Sounds Like A Plan
by daruissu
Summary: Lots of familiarity just seem to factor in— car crashes, plane crashes, old habits that die hard— but Callie and Arizona slowly try and strike up new things in both their personal spaces, where they might just learn how to deal with being together while they're apart. The key word being "might". Post-11x20.
1. Chapter 1

_**SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN**_

 **Summary:** Lots of familiarity just seem to factor in— car crashes, plane crashes, old habits that die hard— but Callie and Arizona slowly try to strike up new, little things in each of their personal spaces, wherein they might just learn how to deal with being together while apart. The key word being _might_.

 **Timeline:** Pre-11x22 onwards.

 **Disclaimer:** I hope to own cute overall shorts this Christmas. (But we don't always get what we want, do we?)

 **A/N:** This is a reboot for my first fic, **Of Gaps and Bridges** , which I have now deleted. There are whole lot of tweaks, but I'm hoping to shed more of my true color and light on this one. Beware of the crack and pop culture references on all the chapters to come!

* * *

 **Chapter 1** Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

 **MEREDITH GREY (V.O.):** We hear a lot of people say that time heals all wounds, even if nobody can tell how long it would hurt. Or if the hurt goes away at all. But us doctors like to think it true. We assess patients and patch them up. We medicate then silently hope against the pain.

And hope is really as far as we can get. And, sometimes, no matter how it rears its tempting head, hope's what scares us the most. We think of depressing laws and proverbs: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Smile today, because tomorrow will be worse.

We develop a fear of trying. We turn and revert to what we know is safe. We stay on that other side of the line, always wondering. But it's okay to only wonder, to stay forever by that side. Because what's the point if you could get hurt again, right?

* * *

 _Painfully, excruciatingly, she felt her heart hit against the walls of her chest on repeat, her voice trembling with anxiousness as she spoke. As she breathed._

" _All this time, you let me hold it against you." It was loaded with the fear of asking. "I-," she almost choked. Almost broke. "Why?"_

 _And she did break when brown eyes peered into her own. It was gentle and made her stomach drop down the cold, linoleum tiles of the floor. Callie had always had dark, expressive eyes. With the warmest and softest of gazes that could melt you. They could give out what her words_ — _or lack thereof— could not. And they were screaming the answer to Arizona right then. Arizona fucking got it then._

 _Callie worded it out, "_ _ **I**_ _made the call."_

 _Another nail just dug shallowly into their coffin. A hammer lightly tapped and deep, quick, it went._

 _"I mean, no matter what," she resumed, with her concerned voice and concerned eyes, "it was still me making the call to take your leg, and I knew that you were going to hate me." Teeth bit onto her lip. She paused, eyes flitting. Then whispered, "I didn't want you to hate Alex too."_

 _Arizona felt like falling out from the blue, blue sky all over again. Callie just looked like she was two steps away from swallowing the sun. Like she was about to cry._

 _It was only subtle, still guarded and very unlike her, but her face eventually betrayed the restraint. There was only this one half-second in her life when she had seen this face as despicable, Arizona thought. That one time she had peed on the floor of their bathroom, among others. When Callie had caught her, pushed her against the wall, and cried with her in the shower, hot tears mixing in with cold water._

" _I wanted you to have somebody."_

 _And now, she won't be catching her anymore._

 _The realization came to her, crisp and stark white_ — _if she fell, Callie wouldn't be there anymore. She smiled tersely, just a hint of it, and thanked her from a distance as if commending her for a duty well done. Yet out of instinct, solely without second thought, Arizona stepped closer, moved her arm, then finally, she hesitated._ _ **Stopped**_ _._

 _Because if she were to touch Callie now, she might cry. Fall head-first then apart. Callie might not have it in her any longer to watch. And she'd leave, while Arizona would stay, always stay, too weak, too gutless to tell her_ _ **not**_ _to go._

 _So this time, it was her whose back had the courage to turn first, stony-faced but glassy-eyed. It was done with everything her barely-beating broken heart could take. She walked away, dizziness sprawled on her shoulders, just so she could-_

Stew.

That's what her decision-making skills ended up with.

She was going to stew.

Arizona Robbins's going to process the hell out of this and tamp that bile rising up from her throat down where it won't see it coming. She will endure and emerge— the triumphant loser of probably one of the most ridiculous guilt-games that the universe has ever produced— while Britney Spears' life-changing rendition of _Oops, I Did it Again_ played in the distance.

She'd unknowingly played with Callie's heart. Got lost in the game. Even when Callie used to look at her like she was sent from above. Even when Arizona herse;f was not that innocent. But neither was her ex-wife, really. She'd literally just admitted making up this big lie of hers.

Of sorts.

Technically, it was by omission. Out of regret over a broken promise. And Arizona had no idea of it in the first place because of her own stupidity. She gave in to her insecurities, but never gave Callie the benefit of the doubt since that fateful day. The day that changed it all.

The medical records only sat still, unopened in the deep recesses of her cabinet. The yellowing sheets with the pinpoint jottings that some medical scribe fetus had written while an oscillating saw cut through her left femur.

She didn't read those.

She couldn't.

Not when she was consumed by her raging want to just forget.

Arizona would stew about it _now_ , though.

And she really had intended to go through with this plan of hers. It was brilliant and safe and rational— a standard Arizona Robbins procedure. But alas, for the last five minutes, the blonde had been thrown off, severely distracted by the tentative, nervous footsteps fretting loudly near her office. Every time her head swerved to the noises, they would stop— there would be nothing— and she'd look away from her blinds, satisfied with the quiet. And then they'd return, dragging her ears into an abyss.

Into the endless, dark oblivion of her disdain for seaweed, other scary things, and Dump Truck Idaho.

 _Bloody hell._ Irritated, she quietly put her phone into her pocket before sighing, running a hand over her face. Arizona slid her window open, sharply looked around the empty hallway, then deemed it okay enough to bellow, "What do you want, Alex?"

The heavy paces skidded to a halt in an instant, as if surprised, and true enough, it was his scruffy face that timidly popped by the corridor later. Arizona would have laughed if she'd remained in the dark for one more day, and if she wasn't so tired and mortified and annoyed. Timid was a look that didn't work out well for Alex Karev.

"H-Hey. How'd you know it was me?"

He made, however, an excellent pleading voice.

Crossing her arms, the blonde leant her side against the window and told him conversationally, "The plane crash today gave me some magical powers, which is pretty neat, y'know. But it's temporary so I'm kinda just channeling it all in." She slightly raised her chin. "Tell me what's up in thirty seconds, Karev. One, two, go!"

Momentarily, Alex squirmed under her words, her authoritative stare, and his jaw tightened, only making him look— constipated. "Robbins, I-"

" _Whoop_ , save it. Your time is up and I'm _busy_."

Flinching, he murmured pointedly, almost accusing, "But you were just playing _Angry Birds_."

She really was. The game was highly addictive, and the blonde could have sworn she was about to finally beat _Mighty Hoax_ Level 4-14 with three gold stars— until Karev came, of course. Arizona narrowed her eyes at him, aloof at his nerve. "Exactly."

Alex opened his mouth again like he wanted to comment more about another one of her guilty pleasures. Ever since their roommate situation happened, he'd been a Columbus eager to 'discover' each and every one, easily excitable just at the thought of soaking up more blackmail material about his friends. Instead, he fiddled uncharacteristically with the sleeves of his lab coat. "But we'll," he swallowed, expecting, expecting, "we'll talk when you're ready, right?"

Talk? Ready? Right.

Arizona stared at him, at her one and only protege. At the surgeon who had to chop her leg off. And she slightly softened with an almost peculiar affection, just as she always had with her brother, when he'd repeatedly apologize for being an ass. "Of course," she reassured gently. Tim's been dead for years, covered by his blood, others' blood, and Afghan sands. He wasn't with her now to set her straight in dealing with Callie's confession, like he'd probably do.

But Alex was here.

"And you're gonna talk to Torres?"

 _Speak of the devil_. Nose scrunching up, the blonde studied Alex again and coolly replied, "Sorry to say this, but I don't think that's any of your business anymore, Alex." And this time, her stare became more dubious, more skeptical. "Oh, don't tell me... did Callie put you up to this?"

At that, he immediately frowned. "What? No."

He sounded believable and honest enough. But not-very-subtly checking up on her would totally be a Callie Torres thing to do, right? That brought her lips to unconsciously curl up— until, o _h_ , she remembered. Callie Torres wasn't going to be there, with arms wide open for her, anymore. She lost a leg, she cheated, they were divorced. And now, it was over. It was— "Okay."

He almost winced sympathetically. But he didn't. "Look, even if she asked me, I wouldn't dare go to Godzilla's lair for her. Okay? You of all people should know I'd only do it for myself. And for Jo." Alex's eyes shone distinctively like that of a puppy's. Like a brown Labrador, maybe, or a cute, dirty Pug. It was a new side of him that was at least slowly putting a silver lining on her day.

And for this snippy, gallant man, she could put on a show. Make some semblance that she was okay— which in simple and true Alex-and-Arizona fashion was: bad flirting. Grinning, the blonde exaggeratedly batted her eyelashes, "What about me, Dr. Karev? You won't do it for a pretty smile like this?"

A smile fought against his scowl.

"Dude," he whispered gruffly. "Freakin' creepy."

"Your blush is proving otherwise."

"I'm not blushing. I don't do blushing."

"Aw, come on! Humor me a little! You're seriously not even going to the boss level for _your_ boss?" she teased. Till her smug smile fell. "Oh. I'm Godzilla."

"I'll neither confirm nor deny."

She burst out a laugh.

Like a frivolous teenage boy, his smile turned to a smirk, hardly masked as he shrugged his broad shoulders. Faintly, he gave her a final, silencing wave of a hand before shifting to stride away. And then Alex craned his head back to her. And he's never looked more like a man. "She's worried about you, you know," he said.

She?

Her beautiful and stupidly selfless-to-a-fault ex-wife?

Arizona only nodded and wore a small smile, because it _just_ shouldn't matter anymore. It was over and it was okay after all. After closing the windows and blinds, she roamed into the middle of her office and awkwardly sat down on the floor, just needing to feel the numbing iciness in her limbs. Palms pressed against the floor, she gingerly tilted her head to the ceilings, thinking about washing her hands for later.

For now, she'll sit in silence and recount their exchange all over again. Maybe wait for a cathartic drought.

* * *

The janitor's closet was a wrong choice for venue.

She was realizing that now as she backed away slowly, felt the steel frame of the rack for cleaning detergents, and sighed inwardly. This was crazy. What the hell was she doing? And why the hell was this space so confined and humid? Were there no ventilators? No Fight Club meeting would ever survive this heat. "Would you just," she whispered harshly, "do it?"

"What, why me?"

Her brows were furrowed in shock, in alarm.

"I just-, I need to know. And _she_ has to not-know, okay— I-, don't you want to be the chosen one?" she hissed back. A thick bead of sweat rolled down her neck, and she gripped slim shoulders a bit tighter, a bit more desperate. God, was she desperate. "Do I have to turn to Derek about this?"

The other woman scoffed and incredulously shook her head, "Right." She's as fickle-minded as she knew, and at this moment, she knew she got her right where she wanted her. "Because, surely, Derek would do a better job in this type of reconnaissance mission. He'd be fantastic and not suspicious over the phone!"

"That's why I need your help!"

Which might have been a statement that sounded too enthusiastic than it should have, because her companion's eyes suddenly lit up like she knew something that _she_ didn't before squinting decidedly to a glare. Mischievous and shrewd. "Well, why don't _you_ do it?"

Yeah, why won't she?

Everything and nothing could answer to that.

But, dammit, she was having none of that confidence-oozing threat. None of the muss or the fuss. An enticing bribe just had to be made, and the daughter of Carlos Torres knew how to deal one impeccably. The rest would simply be up to fate. She turned the tables around and had their hands shaking on it in less than a minute. (Her chosen one was surprisingly easy.)

Indeed, it would all be up to fate. That had been her last thought as the other woman animatedly left— with a strangely overdone, consoling double thumbs-up— and threw back the door. The last curse-free thought as the hardwood frame had stubbed all five of her toes.

* * *

When a disturbingly grinning Amelia Shepherd— who was _bouncing_ on her step— had approached her at the nurses' station out of the blue, Arizona began to wonder how else this day could get even more explosive and weirder. "Howdy there, Robbins," Amelia chirped out while she marched with her misplaced charisma.

"Shepherd."

It was meant to be a question, albeit, a trivial one about Southern greetings, but she decided against saying it out loud.

"How are all the wonderful, pregnant brains of our wonderful, pregnant patients and their wonderful, not-pregnant babies?" the neurosurgeon questioned, all voiced in one breath. Strangely overdone. The blonde's mind might have spoken too soon.

Arizona gestured towards the NICU, filled with cots and incubators, and proudly smiled. "They're all fine and still very wonderful and pregnant." And in a hurry, she added, "Except the babies, if you must know. They're still little peas— at peace."

"Wow, wow, yeah. That's great! Peas at peace are really," Shepherd was still smiling even as she struggled, wrestled with her words before emphasizing, " _great_."

"Yep," the blonde smiled back. An extremely uncomfortable smile. She actually didn't know what in the world was happening right now. "Super great."

Emphatically, the brunette nodded. "Great!"

And while her volume was still relatively low, Arizona winced at the brief, scratchy shrillness of her voice. Thankfully, the other woman seemed to notice, covering it up with a cough. Amelia then propped herself against the counter top. "So, uh, what about you? How's this day treated you?" she attempted asking casually.

Which was a question that the blonde really didn't have an appropriate answer for. Was she fine? Was she cool? Was she a temporarily, light-headed shell of if-only's and wonderments about the sanctity of doomed marriages? Arizona herself wasn't sure.

What she was certain of, though, was that a set of puffy, red-rimmed eyes— caused by the natural hazard called 'crying in the office during afternoon break'— had stared back at her in the mirror earlier. And it had been a bit of a terrible sight.

"It treated me fabulously."

No, it did not.

"Fabulous is good," Amelia grinned crookedly as if amused by her obscuringly private catastrophe. "My brother hasn't been answering any calls since five. Meredith was just Freaked-Out Meredith today. You know how the crazy goes."

Amelia didn't need to know that crazy was also Arizona Robbins and Meredith Grey hiding in a supply closet like trembling sheep in daylight, despite not being really friends. They were only plane-crashmates. And their hands had clasped so tightly together, veins popping roughly in bony wrists, for an hour. Holding on, holding on.

Dragging her sight down to her clipboard, the blonde tapped her pen against it, metrical knocks echoing, and waited for her breath to even.

"Crazy is always reasonable for this case."

Faulty engines in medplanes weren't.

"Yeah."

They remained solemn for a few moments in thought. Then the brunette smirked, playfully shrugging, "You know, I'm starting to realize that I'm quite amazing in handling this dark and twisty stuff right now. I almost talked statistics with her, minus the graphs." She twisted her lips. Shrugged again. "But I resisted the urge. Freaking her out more wouldn't have done any good."

Arizona smiled, "Aren't you a good sister."

The other woman laughed, though it could've been more of a cackle, and clapped her arm firmly. "I'm a good Shepherd and a good sister when I need to be, my friend."

"Ah," Arizona's smile grew wildly, "Good Sister Shepherd."

It was only a slip of the tongue. But when the brunette's look ran comically cold and extremely offended, it became the truest catharsis for Arizona's soul. She'd felt utter rediscovered triumph, never happier to pounce on the opportunity. Arizona was finally gaining the upper hand for once in being the resident chirpy, blue-eyed oddball of this hospital. There was only one room for that label.

And it didn't belong to Amelia Shepherd.

"That sounds like an awful title in celibacy rankings. Or a brand for lamb meat. Especially— god, a name for a catholic school indie band?" Amelia cringed. Arizona only continued to be a glowing ball of delight. "It's surprisingly horrifying, is what it is. It's-," she shook her head and muttered raspily in disgust, "it's a travesty."

"Good Sister Shepherd?"

"Stop... you're making me gag."

"But it's holy. And invincible. Like a superhero nun."

The brunette did not appear wholly convinced. "I believe that's my cue to go to an on-call room and have the best dream of my life." She took a step backwards, and then another. "I'm off to a happy tomorrow with the most gorgeous quesadillas known to man. You're not. 'Good Sister Shepherd' _is_ _out._ "

One blink and she _was_ out. Gone like the wind.

Huffing a breath after, the blonde pouted slightly. More than the immature joke-making with her colleagues, she missed simple, unadulterated happiness. Again, she stared after the empty space that Amelia had previously occupied, and her pout went deeper. It didn't even matter if the happiness was just for the mere, romantic thought of quesadillas.

But, right now, her need and want to take a break from her penance and just be sad inside the warm comfort of her blankets— with her bitter smiles and knees tucked safely around her arms— was stronger. The need and want for an embrace— even if not from another person, but from a pillow, a rabbit hole for people falling apart— was greater. And so much more than she'd like to admit.

Arizona Robbins wanted to go home. And the problem was, she didn't know where it was.

But Alex's place would do, for now. It could be her house too, for now. The rented, ghostly space wherein the grooves of her own hands would catch every drop of salt and water and feeling that'd break through her cracks, so that the old wood of the floor wouldn't rot. So that no one else would have to.

But it'll never be her home.

* * *

Some people loved to talk. In fact, almost a staggering 78% of the Grey Sloan staff loved to talk a lot. She— yeah, even she talked a lot. April Kepner was an exceptional, fierce veteran and only used to talk a lot. Her chosen one, Callie discovered, did not. Or at least, she hadn't shared the hospital community's benevolent devotion for it, earlier.

 _"Your ex made fun of me," she stated seriously._

 _Amelia Shepherd was volatile and could be as sly as a snake. However, it turns out that her suave swagger thing tended to lose it way when it came to social missions. She was also a strangely terrible sport when puns are made on her name. "But that's okay, it's cool," she tried to amend, forcibly shrugging like she had the last laugh amongst them all, "We're all winners here!"_

 _Not all, per se._

 _The first part sounded like a complete disaster, Callie wanted to comment, but her mouth was still a little too busy fighting to retain its firm, straight line, fighting back a laugh in spite of the stifling pain in her swollen, swollen toes. She cleared her throat in hopes to return to their original discussion._

 _But Shepherd only turned to her, still oblivious to her predicament, and appeared slightly worried. "I'm still getting my payment, right?" Her lips then thinly set to another grimace. "I'm feeling it to be more of a_ _ **good**_ _pension, to be honest._ _ **Sisters**_ _, co-workers_ — _god,_ _people are exhausting."_

 _Brown eyes went wide. Plump lips froze._

 _Dammit._

Good Sister Shepherd had haunted her ever since.

Tiredly, Callie plunked her head deeper down the back pillow and sighed. She'd been holding solo base at the attendings' lounge for the better part of an hour. It had been a long day, in which her legs endlessly stood for seven straight hours. And yet, of all things, Callie Torres was irrevocably taken down by five stubbed toes. Which, she might add, was actually a legitimate reason for any person to be incapacitated overnight. That, and her ex-wife's humor.

She shook her head, laughed to herself again.

For obvious reasons, today was an _experience_. The brunette worried about Arizona earlier— something she's always done, something she should maybe stop doing. It wasn't her place anymore, like what she'd said to Alex. She's already had her due. Been overdue for it, even.

She held her ex's hand all through Dr. Herman's brain tumor debacle. So she was done with it by all means. But, yes, quite contrary to what she had just declared— with a pointer finger to dumb, old habits once more— Callie Torres was pulled by an unstoppable force and looked out for Arizona Robbins once again.

Not to her face. But looking out for her, nonetheless.

And it was, in a word, awkward.

How Callie herself had confessed— telling the other woman that one important fragment of the whole story— and how everything else had turned out, was awkward. A bit anti-climactic and quiet, but Callie guessed she can't imagine it in any other way. A wave of relief rolled through her, though, as she remembered the blonde mouth the words 'thank you' so genuinely and in such a small and vulnerable manner that poundings formed in her ears.

She wanted to break into sobs. Everything went on too strangely, too quickly, for something that had spanned an entire lifetime. A minute-long, heartfelt conversation in the middle of a public space. Only because of a reminder of what had broken them in the first place.

 _They_ were too strange. They've turned into _strangers_. In a world where they used to be _each other's_.

Wow. She should write a poem.

She should write a poem, she thought, when the door squeaked open and when she instinctively turned her head to the sound. Then she stared. Then she stayed like that for a little while, silent, feeling the faint strain of the twist on her neck, and— _god_ — she almost, almost voiced out a deep 'wow' for the sheer genius of the universe, because really. _Wow._

In literature, there was something, Callie believed, that was called poetic justice. At the end of every story, the good guys win and the bad guys lose. And then the evil destroyers of happy endings receive cosmic karma from the gods and die on the hot fires of hell. Well, joke's probably on her and other seven billion lives, because there were simply no good or bad guys in the human world, and this wasn't it.

 _No,_ this was either a reality show or a longtime running soap opera. The timing, the situation— this moment was just perfectly crafted. Like it was scripted for some piss-poor, smart-alecky, catfight drama that the dreadful stuff telenovelas are made on. Morose cliches.

There it was: wide, blue eyes blinking repeatedly. The most horrified and laughable Callie has ever seen them in a while.

"Oh, hey," she heard.

Or at least Callie _thought_ Arizona just said 'hey'.

It was a bit of a shaky sound, really, and her blue eyes were distractingly wide as saucers. So the brunette only remained silent in both their steads, her brain searching out for words to say, say, say, and coming up with fucking _none_. This was either purgatory or hell, yet it's really only life. Oh, herewith stupid, poem-worthy life.

"Sorry. Um, you know what, I'll just come back later," Arizona stammered out before turning back to leave and taking a subtle step backwards.

Then Callie all but shouted, "No, no, it's okay!" And she was pretty sure that the seconds that went by while she was saying them— and the seconds of silence that went _after_ — made her die just a little more inside. "Come in!"

"What?"

Admittedly, the brunette also almost said 'what' back but she didn't. "Just come in. I was about to leave in a few anyway." As if to make a point, she good-naturedly lifted and wiggled her bare, still-swollen, still-purplish toes. Smiling awkwardly, she sing-sang, "Just resting my foot."

It could have been the worst split-involuntary thing she has ever done for a long time, because: one, did she just do that? And two, did she really just create a situation where she'll be alone and have a high probability of holding a conversation with a person she, equal parts wanted to avoid and look at all the time?

The blonde's sight drifted down to her right foot.

Yes. Yes, she did.

A lengthy pause ensued before Arizona quietly closed the door, inclined against the back of it for a while, and quietly asked, "Are you okay...?"

Callie tried to keep a straight face because apparently, they _are_ going to talk. Which is totally cool and fine, except for the fact that she's freaking the hell out because this thing— holding what would probably be a serious conversation with her ex-wife while her foot that's in ridiculous, crappy pain is propped up on top of a coffee table— is actually happening.

She took a plunge of faith, "I'm fine."

"Oh. That's," Arizona, none the subtle, looked down at her foot again and said, "good."

"It's just a minor... injury. Nothing to fuss about."

The reply seemed to prod the blonde to enter since she finally began to actually go inside the room. They rarely ever exchanged smiles anymore, so it's become odder and odder as time went on. But still, Arizona gave her a small smile and she smiled back, and her heart ultimately skipped a long beat—something it's always done, something it should stop doing.

The room was engulfed with silent noises once again. Clatters of moving gurneys from the hallway, muted chatter, footsteps of other people, and both of their uneven breathing. Slumped down and on-edge at the same time. Callie stayed unmoving on her seat, while Arizona fumbled around the drawers, making the blonde's backside be directly in front of her.

This was a whole other stage of limbo, she decided. A new level of uncertainty where both parties are present and not at the same time.

Her _Carpe diem_ mode's gone from 100 to 0.

She opted on silently watching Arizona instead. That's what she always did when she didn't know what to do. She studied, took in her features, her posture. Intently noted the obvious discomfort and fatigue in the way she moved, ever still an absolute sight: dainty, ivory hands roaming about; light, golden locks slightly falling to the side of a shoulder; her petite body turning around; and her perfectly-shaped brows a bit furrowed. Pink lips about to open.

"Callie?"

Oh.

The brunette literally jumped back to her senses, eyes wide and her face flushing to a deep red. "Sorry, I-," her voice faltered, "I wasn't staring." She wasn't fully aware of what came out of her mouth until a few seconds later.

Arizona's mouth opened in an 'o', "Um... okay." She returned slightly to her side again and flattened her lips, like she's suppressing an unwarranted grin. And like Callie had just damned herself to a hell of embarrassment. "I was just saying that I found your stash of sudoku issues from last month. They were near a bunch of stool test results," she said, waving said stash with a dimpled smile. "Alex probably hid this."

 _Oh._ "Oh." Swallowing her entire pit of embarrassment, Callie proceeded to smile stupidly, "Thank you." Sudoku was a start. Quite a start. After the atmosphere went all quiet again, she thoughtfully put in her two cents, "Karev's dumb, sometimes. Doesn't have taste for real games."

Arizona agreed, grinning slyly, "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Unfortunately, my work husband's quite a goof."

A chuckle broke over Callie's lips, and they simply held each other's gazes, still smiling, still smiling all the while. Blue eyes glistened curiously as the blonde then motioned to her foot, gently questioning, "So what's the backstory for that?"

The brunette pondered on the question, finally relaxed. Surely, Amelia wouldn't have disclosed any kind of detail from their deal— most especially to the object of interest, of all people. She wouldn't have been _that_ bad. "Long story short, I sorta made this deal. We were both hysterical and... stupid, in retrospect. Then..."

"Voila?"

"Pretty much. My foot accidentally hit the door."

"Ow. Yikes," Arizona winced, brows knitted together adorably. "But all for a great cause, yeah?"

Looking intently at the other woman, Callie cheekily remarked, "Definitely worth all the stubbed toes." Unbeknownst to her, a grin that reached ear-to-ear had graced her face— but, unfortunately, not for long. Glancing at her watch, she let out a long breath and sat up. "I think I'm gonna go now," the brunette announced while she slipped in her sandals. "Sof and I are in for a surprise grocery trip tonight."

At the mention of their daughter, the blonde smiled. It almost looked sad at some instant, but the stiffness of it went as swiftly as it was there. Now, it was accepting and hushed. "Ah. Homemade pizza day already?" she asked. Her tight smile didn't waver as a more comfy silence arose.

And she could understand it. The tight smile, the light tone. She knew the feeling well and felt it too, at times. "Nope," she said, carefully standing up. "Tomorrow actually became homemade quesadilla day," Callie muttered, rolling her eyes. "It's my unfortunate consequence for the stupid deal."

Arizona only blinked.

It wasn't slow, nor was it gradual. But it seemed instantaneous, the lit-up, recognizing spark in bright, blue eyes. They had a lot of things left unsaid, going in, between, and above their words. It would be immediate. Right at first sight. It was always easy, _so easy_ , even when it was hard. Since the divorce, it was still there, but they never knew when would one come to the other, never knew what to expect. And now, she was caught, trapped in that forever mysterious glance. Like Arizona was in complete, shocking awe of her. Like she knew.

And Callie was not quick enough to run.

"Oh," the blonde mumbled. "Quesadillas."

At this moment, the word had practically almost leveled with 'rosebud' from _Citizen Kane_ in Callie's dictionary. Which was bad because Callie hated that movie with a fucking passion. But as a last resort, she attempted to go against her nature, schooling her pained expression to something neutral and controlled. And this face was months, perhaps years, of taxing work— Callie Torres did it like a real, thick-skinned champ.

Arizona Robbins, surprisingly, did not.

She licked her lips nervously in that way that she did, looked straight into her eyes, and sighed. For the second time today, the blonde looked incredibly vulnerable. Like their roles had seemingly reversed. Her sigh gave much of what she was feeling right away. "Callie..."

The brunette steeled herself, "... What, Arizona? What?"

"I... we don't have to talk now, if you don't want to," Arizona whispered into the silence, her voice trying to remain steady.

"What do you even want me to say?" she silently snapped back, testing the breath rattling between her teeth. Callie reined in her disbelief. She is tired and bitter and, this time, allowed herself to be a little mad. It wasn't everyday that her gorgeous and blindly pensive-to-a-fault ex-wife and the word 'talk' were willingly combined together. The air only continued to thicken. They breathed it in, and their chests heavily rose and fell. Rose and fell.

Arizona dipped her head a little like a child trembling imperceptibly, tears starting to pull out from her eyes. She lent the syllables to her, deathly quiet and pronounced.

"I-I don't know," she said. She shook her head. "Nothing. You don't have to say anything."

"Then what-"

"But I do, Callie— I have something to say. Because I've hurt _you._ When I should've been the one protecting you and our family, _I have hurt you_. I-I wasn't strong enough. And I am so a-angry at myself because I've hurt you so many times and I-"

And Callie didn't want to hear any of it. It hurt too much. So as the world around them froze over; as her chest, filled with ghosts, clenched with erratic thumps; as unspoken words failed them both, she seized the moment and took Arizona in her arms. And hesitantly but _desperately_ , she pulled her body closer. Tighter.

She hushed her in a heavy sigh, "Don't."

Callie knew of proxemics. And she knew that their distance now was close to none. While there were times when it only felt like they were fragile strips of paper, barely held together with tape and glue— this feeling of belongingness, in the way Callie's cheek brushed against Arizona's pierce-studded ear, has never gone away. It's always been there.

Arizona's shocked just as she is but eventually melted to her embrace. Her nose burrowed its way into her hair, her hot breath hitting right at her nape as she brokenly whimpered, "I-I'm sorry. I'm so _sorry_. I don't even-, I-I didn't-"

"I know."

Arizona instinctively pressed more into her touch, clutching at her scrubs, as if afraid to let her go. "I _didn't_ know," she breathed.

Callie tried hard not to appear as broken and overwhelmed as she was. "I know," she whispered. "I'm sorry, too."

It was closure this time, and they both knew it.

Tanned fingers padded down through soft, golden curls, calming down the beating drum of her own heart and the few, drying tears that splayed by her face. Seeking for more nearness, Arizona wrapped her arms more strongly around her waist, burying her forehead comfortingly on the bare skin between her neck and shoulder.

It was a second too late when she realized she'd placed a sweet, feather-light kiss by the blonde's temple, vaguely chapped skin touching smooth. A movement that— despite the oxygen going into her brain at even intervals— wasn't exactly thought through.

Thought through in a way that she's supposed to, in regards and respect to their utterly complicated history. Actions that were always planned and carefully calculated. Provided minimal physical contact. And the hugging should probably be also considered out of bounds, on second thought.

Beneath her, the smaller body tensed slightly but otherwise seemed calm. Callie's breathing, on the other hand, was anything but. She felt her heart rate start to pick up and go rampant. Thrumming against the blonde's steady rhythm, which was clearly trying to make hers synchronize along, slow down.

"No. _No_. Please don't panic," Arizona pleaded in a small voice. "Don't walk away." And Callie could sense her lips weakly smile against the material of her shirt. "That was-," she began with what confidence she could only muster and concluded, "that was old habits."

The brunette stared at the blank wall in front of her. And she also tried to smile, just as weakly. Maybe a lot more.

"Yeah. Old habits."

The other woman nodded faintly into her shoulder. Their embrace turned looser but didn't part. Arizona put her hand lightly by her shoulder blade and spoke, "Callie?"

"Hm?"

"You didn't cry, did you?"

Her breath hitched for a moment, like she'd been caught red-handed. Which, in a way, she really was. "I, uh. No." She paused purposely to clear away her obviously lying and wide doe-eyes, in case they sprung apart. "W-Why? Did you?"

"Almost. But I didn't." Arizona didn't explain any further. And, of course, she also didn't buy her answer. "But you were, I think, just now," and she had murmured this innocent accusation so silently and so disjointedly but with all the conviction in the world. It was absolutely ridiculous, how this person could manage such a thing.

"Wha-, _What?_ " Her pitch was unintentionally much higher than she'd anticipated. Callie drew back a bit to testify the resolve in her defiance, although, a small laugh that had been bubbling at her throat immediately betrayed her best efforts, "I wasn't crying, Yoda."

The overt denial prompted for Arizona's thumbs to take a swipe, deliberately slow and firm, at her cheeks, trailing the unmistakably wet tracks that apparently ran all over her face. She broke out into a playful, wide grin. "You were," she teased.

She was.

"I won't be a six-year old with you, Arizona."

"Sorry," the blonde sheepishly conceded.

"I didn't cry. For the record."

"Okay," she grinned, "okay."

But she knew.

Because Arizona knew Callie, and Callie knew Arizona. And the opposite end also held true— she didn't really know her and vice versa. It's how it's always been. That made everything a whole lot crazier than it already was, and she certainly didn't want to talk about everything. It'd be too unbearable for one night.

When she made no move to answer back, the blonde's gaze was watchful as she observed, "You have this really funny look on your face."

Rendered curious by the sudden statement, the brunette probed, "What funny look?"

"Like you need to go to the groceries now."

Some things, indeed, do stay true.

She smiled widely.

"Maybe, I do."

* * *

When they walked out together to the staff parking lot at six in the evening— with Sofia fast asleep on Callie's arms, and a colorful mini-backpack slung over Arizona's right shoulder on top of her own gym bag— it almost felt like everything's fallen back into place.

But Arizona had noted the shocked, widened eyes from the people they saw in hallways and wards everyday, and the harshly-whispered murmurs of a nurse to an orderly. And she realized that things didn't seem so normal anymore, after all.

She didn't think anyone could possibly still be interested in the happenings between the one-legged, gay peds surgeon and the wife she cheated on, but anything was adequate enough to be picked up by the gossip radar, really. The dismaying reality for this night's whirlwind turn of events.

In the wide stretch that went by, they've never really made their way to act positively friendly to each other in front of others. Their workplace relationship was always, only, at a satisfactory level of amicability. If surrounded by friends, they just exchanged common courtesies. Anything to make them appear like they were over it.

Over each other.

Sometimes, they would also share morbid jokes. (Exhibit A would be her saying days ago: _"I only thought about maiming you once, Callie, and I told you that the second I thought it."_ ) But aside from that, surgeries with her ex-wife had been efficient, still best in what they do together.

Professional but tense, with no idle chatter.

Disturbingly quiet.

They avoided being in the same OR most of the time, so when she thought of the countless eyes looking at them like they're ancient aliens, she could kind of understand. And the current thing was, Arizona didn't know where they stood now. After finally breaking this one barrier.

Up until now, she couldn't quite believe that the whole thing had just happened. It was either an effect of light-headedness, or a sliver of light on the odious opinion that she really might be dense. Arizona Robbins was still quite wrecked in the middle of her stewing process.

"You ready for our curettage on Louie tomorrow?

Blinking, she looked up at the other woman in question then lifted an amused eyebrow, slightly relieved at the turn-up of a simple talk. Surgery. Yes, she could rock talking about surgery. "Very," the blonde softly smiled. "It's a nasty blastoma. But a beautiful-looking one, nonetheless."

"Yeah, I wouldn't miss it for sleep," Callie grinned. Surgery talk about beautiful, benign tumors with her ex-wife, Arizona decided in that moment, was one of the seven wonders of the world, and something that was truly missed.

They stopped their tracks in front of a jet-black SUV. While the brunette searched for her keys with one arm and strode over to the car's right side, Arizona just followed behind her. Awkwardly.

Normally, she'd be the charming, chivalrous woman that she was and open the door by the backseat for Callie— but this wasn't normal. And that was back then. Tonight, she would be keeping her space. She didn't want to look like she was hovering. Like she was a dying animal desperate for great adult companionship.

Especially after that _thing_ they'd just shared.

After finally pulling the door open, Callie secured the still-slumbering little girl into her booster seat. A 'thanks' was muttered, when Arizona handed her their daughter's bag, and the uncomfortable, post-heart-to-heart-talk awkwardness finally began to appear, much to both their chagrins. And neither one of them wanted to break the quiet, until-

"So..." Callie started tentatively, clearing her throat. "I think it's safe to say that I have no idea how to do this."

She didn't say what 'this' exactly meant, but Arizona could also somehow understand it.

On a whim, the blonde enthusiastically proposed, "Another hug? Could be a nice start." And— _dear lord_ — it was all kinds of horrifying just how eager and clingy she had sounded in suggesting that. Her brain might literally be fried, with all the _shit, abort_ chants ringing out inside her head.

Callie didn't seem to think anything of it, though, as she breathed out to the cold air, a kind smile forming in plump lips.

"Yeah. Okay, that'd be nice."

At the evident sigh, Arizona almost believed that the brunette wanted it just as much as she did. Her stomach dipped at the thought, with funny, fluffy flips.

Returning the smile brightly— in double, even— the blonde edged closer to the other woman afterwards and dropped her gym bag to the ground. But her steps were rather dragged-out and short. Callie noticed this and nodded encouragingly at her, quickly putting on her own effort to gravitate towards her as well. That caused Arizona's heart to tremendously skip a beat.

That had confirmed it, for her. That this hug was certainly of mutual interest.

It's Callie who motioned her body forward to a relaxed hug, pulling her in and cosily putting caramel arms around her neck. Arizona loved her hugs that were just like this. She could weep to her goddamn father on just how much she loved it.

She gave in all at once, cradling the other woman by the hips with all she has. Her chin was tucked into a strong shoulder, and her nose was buried into raven locks, breathing in Callie's homey fragrance. Feeling the deep inhales also against her skin, she repressed the shudders coming up her body. "I hope this doesn't sound weird, but you're a really great hugger, Callie."

The brunette briefly laughed, "Thank you?"

"You give really amazing hugs," Arizona emphasized.

The other woman leant her face more comfortably against her, gently touching on the fine hairs behind her neck.

"You're not so bad either."

Shaking her head into dark hair with a quiet chuckle, the blonde clarified, "No, I just... I think I needed tons of this. Especially today."

"A hug?" Callie asked.

"An adult hug," the blonde called it as her fingertips snaked onto the other woman's back. "Feels like I haven't had even a single one for a long time."

Callie nodded then pulled her closer, "I'll hug you then. If you ever need one, tell me and I'll hug you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she murmured happily under her breath. "Adult hugs are always nice once in a while. I'll tell you when I need one, too."

Still wrapped around familiar arms, Arizona found herself secretly elated at Callie jauntily, _freely_ making these deals with her. But for her reply, she just gave a _m'hmm_ sound, helpless to the obvious, wide grin curling up in her lips, and it prompted the other woman to let out a sweet, infectious snicker as if she knew what exactly was going on behind her back.

They stood there for a few more minutes, holding onto each other, listening to their inhales and exhales. What was to be a quick goodbye hug in the half-full parking lot turned out to be one a hell lot more like a hello. And what made it frustratingly wonderful was, they both didn't even realize it.

* * *

 **A/N:** A girl can be Jaqen H'ghar from _Game of Thrones_ and hope that the dear reader liked the first chapter and plans to leave reviews, despite her being a total moron for pulling this stunt. Nonetheless, a girl will still love you all even if you hated her. *peace out*


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2** What's on Your Mind

The following day started out weird enough: Callie asked her what she had for breakfast earlier.

They were on surgery, and it was while Arizona was babbling about something she can't even remember and holding a curette in her gloved right hand. And she was damn ready to help scrape a nasty cyst from their patient. But not for Callie's question. Hence, born on the crisp morning of March 26th, was one of the most painfully uncomfortable conversations she had ever gone through in her entire life.

But, at least, Callie's not ignoring her after last night. After their last, could-have-been-too-long-for-exes hug. Or the two of them, actually.

Those hugs.

Callie asked her what she ate, and because Arizona's easily giddy like that, her happiness transcended her physical body. Floated over the moon. Because the question, the concern itself meant that her ex-wife still somewhat cared about her life, right?

Right?

She's never felt this nervously clingy since the horrors of her journey through puberty and realizing her sexuality. The anxiousness of spreading her young, lesbian wings at high school? The fear of falling for her painfully straight, teenage best friend? Arizona had felt remnants of those feelings, in quadruple, and all in the same morning.

It wasn't a funny experience. She'd ended up throwing an impromptu speech about the bacon she had, with impressive detail, for which earned her very hearty laughs in the OR. It was still awkward, as everything seemed to be with them since the divorce. But it was definitely leaning towards friendly.

And Arizona could get on with that.

With starting to be friendly.

For what it's worth.

After being paged for a small peds consult, Arizona crossed over to the emergency room counter with a pep on her step to fill out a chart with some check-up notes, only to see April Kepner fidgeting on her seat. And because she's feeling preppy, her greeting is made with the brightest of all smiles.

"Hey, April!"

But, not even glancing up at her, the redhead only nodded. Which was kind of wounding for her ego, sure, but Arizona just settled on biting the inside of her cheek. Kepner was very much a woman of idiosyncrasies, who processed almost _everything_ orally and aloud. And she used to find that prospect so exhausting, even if the feeling was second-handed— which should be saying something.

But with every disaster that has landed on this hospital over the years, people and things have changed. And along with it, were also her friend's rambling habits. So, yes, apparently even Arizona could miss something so unusual. People really never know what they have until it's gone _._

"Did someone run over your puppy?"

April jumped out of her seat, as if she didn't notice her speak the first time. "What?"

A small pout threatened to take over the blonde's lips. "Nothing," she murmured. The ice-breaker question she'd thought for minutes wasn't even so much as _acknowledged_. "I just thought you looked like someone had ran over your puppy, or stolen your golden fleece," she added pointedly. "Something like that."

A confused Kepner said, "I'm allergic to dogs."

Right. And she'd had farm pigs as pets.

"Sure you are," Arizona reacted instead.

Slowly, the other woman rose from her swivel chair and straightened her lab coat, frowning as she did, "There's also no 'golden fleece'— that doesn't exist, anyway— and nothing about me! It's just-," and she sighed exasperatedly, "they said Meredith passed out at the lounge earlier."

"Oh?" Fainting was a trend these days, especially with the late March weather. It was common knowledge. And frankly, heat syncope is not as problematic as it seemed before. But, like playing an old trick, she could start talking about the obvious. That's what she'd been doing with Callie all morning, anyway. "Well, it _is_ kind of getting hot right now. She okay?"

That might have been quite a strange thing to say, because April _gaped_ at her, as if slowly and appalledly digesting her words. " _Hot?_ " she enquired.

It wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Um, yeah. Hot," the blonde confirmed, drumming her fingers lightly on the vinyl counter. "I mean, it's the weather that's hot. Not Grey, if that's what you're thinking," and then she paused momentarily. Arizona literally just had to cringe and be creeped out at herself just for voicing that out. This is what happens when after so long, she's overwhelmed with glee— major word vomit.

April looked more disturbed than before if that's even possible. "I wasn't thinking that, at all..."

"Okay, so don't think about it! Just ignore it and… forget about it. She's pretty, you're pretty, as is everyone else in the hospital." A warning smile on her face, Arizona rashly added, "The past twenty seconds never happened, Dr. Kepner." April didn't currently have the balls to begin pushing on it, and the blonde could never be more relieved. "So what's with Grey again? Heat exhaustion?"

The redhead looked intensely at her, eyes wide as she asked, "You really haven't heard about it yet?" This time, it was truly rhetorical. And it almost seemed too suspenseful for Arizona's liking. Far too suspenseful and serious for surprise birthday parties.

"Heard what yet?"

Kepner's head stooped down low, eyes staring down at the floor, like she was calming a storm. When the other woman finally found it in herself to speak, when Arizona finally heard the words she's been asking for— she could swear that, for a moment, time had stopped. And she couldn't breathe.

* * *

"I haves'a book, Mami!"

Callie was greeted by this particular yelp as soon as she entered the hospital daycare. Her daughter still had some of her adorable four-year old vocabulary intact, and while Callie sometimes itched to, she doesn't bother correcting it most of the time. It's just so excessively _cute_. And besides, it's probably gonna grow out in a few years. Self-proclaimed badassery be damned.

She'd savor in it for as long as she can. Because Derek Shepherd can't anymore, not even with his own children. Because Derek Shepherd was dead. (For today, and from now on, it could be something she'd do in memory of him.) After hearing the tragic news directly from Meredith, going away to see Sofia seemed like a cure for the bad day. Another dead colleague and friend again. It all started from Seattle Grace-Mercy Death, and now, they were here— at Grey-Sloan _Memorial_.

Fitting.

Sofia excitedly pulled on her arm, jogging up and down. "T'cher Jen gave me this super big book, then I saw a pretty picture, and then I copied it with my crayons." She then proudly showed her work to Callie, all smiles and sparks running on her eyes.

Which led her to where she was now— her sadness temporarily overthrown. Callie was no expert on analyzing visual arts or anything in spite of her mild appreciation for it. But truth be told, her daughter's drawing just basically looked like an A4-scale version of Arizona's cursive handwriting. Which was downright, extraordinarily _terrible._ If there was one stereotypical thing about the blonde, it was the scary, illegible doctor-scrawl. But Sof's drawing also resembled something else.

Cylindrical in shape?

Slightly thick in width?

Elongated, with two shapes hanging off it?

By all means, Callie Torres is a very mature person. But there are certain times when that declaration could be extremely _debatable_. Especially as her brilliant mind had now just concocted up her funniest green joke yet.

"Is that, um," she almost laughed, "is that a bird?"

It could easily be a classic, written down along with the best of the best.

But— "It's a plane, silly," the little girl calmly told her.

"Ah." Her amusement slightly waned. "Close enough. At least, I didn't say Superman, am I right?" Callie tried to joke again, nodding for effect.

Sofia's brows furrowed in complete confusion, and she shook her head to herself, dramatically sighing and muttering, "Grown-ups are super strange." Unsurprisingly, despite her sassy, colloquial quoting of _The Little Prince_ , Sofia hadn't gotten her joke's lyrical reference. Callie should do something about that, some time.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." Sofia only blew her the cutest raspberry Callie has ever seen, and of course she completely and utterly swooned. "Anyway, I vote that _that_ needs to be hung up on the fridge," she declared, gesturing at the drawing of interest. Callie gently tugged the child by her sides and sat her down on her lap, kissing her at the cheek, "I think you''ll make a pretty fine painter, if I must say so myself, baby girl."

Quickly, the little girl pulled out of the embrace. Not with flattered glee like she'd been expecting— but with a venomous, flabbergasted expression. And then Sofia looked at her. Dead in the eye.

"I only want to be a pilot, Mami."

Callie raised a challenging eyebrow.

"You do."

"I do."

"Seriously? What about being a doctor? Or the janitor you said you were gonna to be last week?"

Sofia gulped a little but still appeared hellbent on giving out another one of her intelligible arguments and reasonings when her attention got immediately frisked away, once she caught a glimpse of a shock of blonde hair by the doorway. She beamed the widest smile that blessed this Earth and shrieked, "Mommy!"

And suddenly, oh so suddenly, Callie froze. Unnerved. And she's not entirely sure if she was only imagining it, but she literally could feel a point-specific spot in her face freaking twitching. Like, really— there was blood pulsing and chanting murder against her _skin_.

The four-year old scrambled off from her position and bolted swiftly towards the daycare's entrance, Arizona crouching down in front of their daughter without delay, greeting her with a simple kiss on the hair. The trademark dimples on her cheeks almost betraying her serious expression, the blonde then stood straight and mock-saluted to Sofia. And Sofia mock-saluted back as if between her and her Mommy, she was the commanding officer.

Which, in fact, she was.

"Good day, Sofie-bear," Arizona said.

Though her chubby cheeks were all puffed up, the little girl still somehow remained stern as she nodded civilly, "Mommy-bear. Good day to you, too."

Sofie-bear and Mommy-bear giggled. Callie sighed.

What.

Freaking.

Dorks.

Whatever they lacked in biological connection, they made up with the brilliant smiles on their faces, these little games, and then some more. The salutation thing was of course part of their rituals. (In truth, she had always been secretly jealous of this thing. Many times before, she'd tried coaxing the little girl into at least calling her 'Mami-bear', and she failed all the same even with cookies as a bribe.)

After pressing a snug kiss on the little girl again, a grinning Arizona held a grinning Sofia's hand and walked over to where she was seated. Callie averted her eyes from watching the two so closely, her knees anxiously bouncing under the blue plastic table.

Which the blonde might have noticed, judging by the same, old smirk she's masking on her face at this very moment. Slowly, though, as she came even closer to her, the smirk softened down a tad to a soft, warm smile, "Hi."

Callie mirrored her smile. Albeit a bit more awkwardly. A lot, if she could be honest.

"Hey."

They haven't talked at length about the more _substantial_ matters since last night— when they both decided to take small steps into a possible friendship. Kind of. Again, nothing was really officially spoken of, but Callie was quite, pretty sure they were on the same page yesterday in terms of what they wanted to do.

She observed the gleam in Arizona's eyes.

Yep, she's pretty sure about it.

During their partnered surgery earlier, Callie was a disastrous mix of stutters and verbal diarrhea. The blonde, however, was patient and sweet and understanding and just as adorably frazzled as she was. And Callie had been startled— pleasantly so— when she had been approached at the locker room with a cup of freshly-brewed coffee before they started preparation at the wee hours of five in the morning. It rang to her as a good sign, all in all.

Arizona had been spontaneous, laughing sweetly, suddenly gabbing about a funny comic she'd read on the newspaper like it was any ordinary day. Callie then set to wonder if it actually was because— she's said it before and she'll say it again— _this was new_. Uncharted waters. And they were both going in blindly, with no concrete plan of what to do.

But then one look at a subtly eager, expectant, and _trying_ Arizona, and it was just what was needed to jump-start her out of her comfort zone.

So, in return, she'd casually asked the blonde what she had for breakfast. That's what normal people would do. Talk about food. Talk about Sofia's steady progress in putting her own shirt on. Last night's _Cupcake Wars_ re-run and actual green eggs and ham. About one fish, two fish, maybe. Red fish and blue fish.

Really, how does one become friends with an ex?

Callie doesn't know much about the subject. Alex, George, and Mark all hardly counted as exes who became her friends. (Last night, she'd searched Adele's lyrics on Google, which are notorious for being about ex-lovers, before she realized that it didn't seem like the right resource for help unless she wanted to sob her eyes out till daylight came.)

Arizona frowned, blue eyes stormy and almost dulled. She settled on the small beanbag, Sofia sitting in between her legs. "I... I heard about Derek," she uttered in a quiet yet determined voice. Her head then tilted in a manner like she's trying to seek out her eyes, "How's Meredith doing?"

The brunette sighed.

If only someone really knew.

"Webber admitted her to a room. She was really dehydrated when she came in." Callie's eyes followed after the pale fingers combing through Sofia's unruly raven strands. Thinking about the way Meredith looked much paler earlier— like she was on a state of hallucination while mumbling about her dead husband— made her stomach sick. "She hasn't woken up, so no one's exactly talked to her yet."

"What about Amelia? Is she holding up?"

She also had no idea, actually. Just an hour ago, the ortho surgeon had been doing a two-hour procedure with the other brunette who was completely clueless about her dead big brother. And that made her yearning to fucking throw up grow tenfold.

"I don't know."

"What about you?"

Callie smiled sadly. "I'm... coping."

Scooting down the edge of her seat, Arizona then moved closer and grasped her thigh, squeezing it a bit as a show for support. Callie could only nod at the gesture, sucking in a quick, inaudible gasp. Wallowing slightly at the warm touch. She closed her eyes.

Sofia watched her parents in bewilderment, "Something bad happen?"

"Yes," Arizona simply kissed her daughter's cheeks again. "We'll tell you soon, okay? Mami and I are just having a really rough and sad day," was the brief explanation as she slightly hoisted the little girl up to hold her tightly in her arms.

Despite the arguments during the early days of their relationship, Arizona was nothing short of an amazing and wonderful mother. It was almost an unanswerable mystery why the other woman had ever thought otherwise. But then again, she wouldn't be herself if she was an open enigma.

They'd never talked about it since then. She'd never tried to ask for anything more after the hospital shooting. Callie had always been terrified of Arizona slipping away if she ever did. The result?

Africa. And shortly after that, Sofia.

Nevertheless, seeing Arizona to be always so kind and attentive to their daughter has never failed to bring a comfortable warmth and swell in her chest. And in spite of her present nervousness, _wow_ , Callie was actually kind of excited at the prospect of being friends with her ex-wife.

And as we all might know, excitement usually also called for being prone to terrifyingly stupid ideas. Which have currently wrapped inside Callie's head. Completely without her conscious permission. And she tried to calmly whack it down— oh, she _really_ tried to be all zen about it— but.

There was always a _but_.

A few minutes of her mental battle quietly passed, and she almost didn't notice the four-year old decisively ease out of the hug she was formerly in. Sofia turned around to get hold of her paper, lightly gripping it with her tiny fingers, and almost shyly passed it out to Arizona. "I drawed a plane."

"Drew, Sof," the blonde gently corrected her. Always a human grammar checker.

Undettered, the little girl politely repeated herself, nodding, "I drew a plane, Mommy" A wide, toothed grin on her face, she finished, "Maybe this will make you and Mami still have the best day. Remember my rainbow mermaid and jellyfish?"

" _Ooh_ , I remember them well," Arizona candidly answered, winking. "Okay, you've made me enough of a curious monkey. Let me see!"

Just like that, Callie could not help the guffaw that escaped from her lips. Like her, the blonde also got visibly shocked by the drawing's uncanny similarity in shape with a certain something. Arizona instantly glared her blue eyes at her, though obviously still baffled, with the wildest expression ever. Callie felt like she was being scolded by a stare.

And it might be really true— she really was being scolded by a stare.

The moment was quickly lost as soon as the blonde smiled, patted her good thigh, and urged Sofia to come closer. Arizona yanked the little girl gently to another embrace, pressing her nose on Sofia's silky hair, breath softly tickling her ear. "That's... an interesting thing you got there," she offered, almost unsurely. "Abstract, modern art stuff. Right, _Mami_?"

Blinking, Callie chimed in, "Right." That was an evident call for back-up. "It's a smart portrayal of," she paused in thought, mouth slightly twitching, "uh, the cultural male dominant role and misogyny. By using the unique image of an airplane."

Arizona's eyes comically widened. She must just have realized that it was, indeed, a plane. (This was one of the realities of their co-parenting teamwork, both at its best and worst.) "Yes. Exactly!" she assured the four-year old enthusiastically. "A _plane_ that promotes social awareness and a youthful stance on contemporary feminism! It's really, super brilliant, bear— a real keeper for MoMA."

The fact that MoMA is most probably a Robbins-made acronym that stood for 'Museum of Mommy Arizona' made Callie's mood lift even more.

"I don't get it," Sofia fiercely concluded. Her cherubic face screwed up in worry. "But did it work? Did it make you feel better?"

"Oh boy, it sure did," the blonde whispered in her ear. "And I'm not forcing you to be a doctor or anything— but that's a sureball sign for Dr. Sofia the Artist, right?"

"I can be both?" Her big, sickeningly innocent eyes sparkled. "What about a pilot? Can I also be a pilot?"

Arizona hummed, sporting a thoughtful expression, "I think you can be all three." Putting her chin on the top of their daughter's head, she stated nonchalantly, her face as serious as her tone, "But you have to start really early, Sof. I mean, if I'm not wrong, we could get you a pilot's license by senior high. So, like, after a few stints, you go to college for a fine arts degree first before going to pre-med. And then med school." Like a complete and total _mom_ , she gushed, "Oh, you're a Da Vinci incarnate, I just know it!"

"I don't think she already knows about Da Vinci, Mommy _,_ " Callie said, terrifically amused.

"She'll learn about him soon." Obviously, Arizona still wasn't finished. "How about Harvard, bear? Mami studied in Harvard for med school, you know."

"Study also in Harvard with Mami?"

"Oh," and the blonde chuckled. "I don't know if she's gonna go back to school with you, sweetie. Why don't we ask?"

Yeah, Callie most absolutely did not want to return to school. But, not wanting to instantly crush four-year old Sofia's hopes and dreams— "We'll see," she shrugged, half-heartedly smiling. Then she smirked, "You know, I can't wait to remind you about this when you get older."

Chuckling, Arizona agreed, "It's truly some potential teasing material. But for the meantime," blue eyes then locked with the child's brown ones while the blonde let go of her hold, "if you keep on being this cute, maybe our tickle-fest next week will be earlier after all."

And at the mentioned tickle-fest, the little girl stifled her giggles, putting a hand over her mouth, and escaped to run away from her Mommy's grabby hands. She took off to the daycare's play area and never gave signs of leaving it for the following hour or so. That left her two mothers alone and hot and bothered.

Maybe not hot. But definitely bothered.

Freaking tickle-fest.

Suddenly (and thankfully?), Arizona's pager beeped off, making the blonde grumble, "Karev's enjoying my fetus-free caseload way too much." She glanced up from her pager to look at her. "Callie? You have her tonight, yeah?"

With that, the brunette jolted back into the present. The present where they had interdependent yet individual child-rearing duties. "Oh, I don't." Callie explained, "Sof's having a sleepover with Hailey. The daughter of Dr. Norsbery from Oncology?"

"Oh. You mean, the one who...?" the blonde's voice trailed off, eyes squinted and her expression crumpled in a funny way.

Because this one was sort of an old inside joke between her and Arizona. It was during Zola's fourth birthday party when Hailey Norsbery— a girl one year older than Sofia— had pulled them both to a private corner. And cautiously warned them to: _never, ever stick your fingers up your butt._

It was a memory quite difficult to forget.

"Yes, that Hailey." Palm over her face, Callie breathed out, "God, I'm really sorry. I-I forgot to mention it to you yesterday."

Arizona cut in with a soft smile, "That's okay. We were-" And her loud pager went off again, as if it was intentionally stopping whatever it was she was still about to say. "Sorry, this," she twisted her pink lips, glaring at the device, "consultation seems a bit too excited." She smiled, almost looked innocently hopeful, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"W-Wait," Callie grabbed hold of her hand, fingers loosely curling onto the other woman's wrist. Something that her body wasn't supposed to do. "Wait."

Arizona's gaze moved from the tight tug at her hand to the brunette's face, obvious surprise creeping in her expression. She didn't let go.

"Yes?"

Callie could feel her caramel skin grow hot, to a faint shade of pink. At first, she didn't budge. Perhaps it was because of their excessively close proximity on such a public setting. With people— around. Watching them. Actual. _**People**_ _._ She couldn't quite believe her heart rate was actually calm when they'd hugged twice last night. What _in fuck's name_ was she thinking— hugging and staring at and holding her ex like this?

But she just needed to know.

"We can be... friends now. Right?"

It felt weird letting her guard down after so long, and in front of her ex-wife no less. It was freeing. And then about one, full minute passed, when Callie started thinking of completely otherwise. Neither had spoken. Only questioning stares.

"Oh, my god." It was the first thing her mind was able to articulate. "I totally misread last night, didn't I!?" She shook her thoughts out, panicking, "You were sad, and I was sad, then I assaulted you! Because— I'm— I'm an assuming _creep,_ " she whispered the last part out, wary of the kids and staff around them. "I'm a total, freaking creep who bombarded you with deals and hugs, and I-"

The other woman broke out from her stunned silence and firmly grasped Callie's forearms with both her hands. "Stop talking," she instructed. Then a wide smile played across her face, "Yes, Callie. Of course."

Which was an answer she couldn't really comprehend at first.

"To me being a creep?"

"For the most part, yes. I suppose," the blonde flippantly said, a long-lost, familiar glint in ocean blues. "But we're also soon-to-be friends."

Callie almost breathed a sigh of relief.

And just before she could crumble down to her mouth-splitting grin, the damn pager buzzed off again, for the third time. Giving her one last, tight-lipped apologetic smile, Arizona then left her to herself, golden locks swirling and the turn-up of the corners of her mouth so obviously growing permanent, as she spun. At that moment, she felt like she could only describe her as a hurricane. Swooping in, swooping out, and carelessly coiling knots in Callie's insides on her wake.

Damn, she was _floored_.

In a quick turn of things, though, Callie realized that she was actually wrong. Like dead wrong. If she wasn't floored thirty-three seconds before, she was definitely floored _now_ — because Arizona suddenly burst again into the daycare's room, breathlessness and the heaving of her chest, her hair wild and draped haphazardly over her shoulders instantly filling in Callie's sight.

"Drinks," she emphatically declared. Her eyes were lively and clear and practically shining as she grinned lopsidedly at her, "We should get drinks some time. If you're up for it."

The brunette found herself agreeing too happily.

Six hours later, Callie hopped off early from her shift, having no more surgeries or bones to reset and wild-eyed with subtle excitement. She drove home with Sofia to pack for the little girl's things. The little girl, too, as excited and bouncy, obviously too ready to go to her playmate's house - the utter energetic childishness making her mind drift off, for some reason, to Zola.

And remembering Zola was the Titanic that struck her in the gut with the full-force reminder that Derek Shepherd had just died the other night. For about six hours or more, she'd forgotten all about it. She'd actually forgotten how death happens to people. All the time.

It felt absolutely awful.

Before chauffering the four-year old off to the Norsbery residence, Callie decided to lock herself at the main bathroom for a minute— to think and then _not_ think. And because she needed to cry about it. Because the night that she and Arizona had literally taken a step in making peace with each other, Derek Shepherd had died at some hulla-wah hospital miles away from civilization and his home.

As if it was an omen.

The pair left the house moments after and parted in their separate ways— the little girl to a fun, fun, _super fun_ slumber party, and her to a maybe less fun, more bitter and mature drinking party with her 'soon-to-be friend'. Because they _are_ going to become friends, that much was now true.

In spite of stupid history and stupid omens, Callie Torres and Arizona Robbins are going to be friends.

The loud clinking of beer mugs and cheers brought her back to the here and now, drowning all of her hearing. Nearly enough to seep out the worries embedded in the pores of her dark skin. She ordered a goblet of red wine first, like appetizer. Then one of strong whisky, second.

Usually, Callie would only settle for the former whenever she went out (or stayed in, for that matter), but she decided that a little hard liquor was needed for the night, if she wanted to survive. Which was why she arrived twenty minutes early. So she could— prepare. She wasn't necessarily asking for a bad hangover— she just needed to both loosen up for tonight and still have her pride intact by tomorrow. And not do something utterly _stupid_ in front of Arizona.

Like she did yesterday.

And earlier.

While she was sober.

(Callie was kind of screwed either way, it seemed. But, yeah, safety measures like these shouldn't have to hurt.)

Her initial anxiousness started to dissipate as she sat comfortably on the secluded stool by the bar counter, taking small sips from her third drink, a martini. She drank away. Waited. Ordered cheese fries. Ate cheese fries. Waited.

Arriving early meant that the fifteen minutes past eight was virtually an eternity. On Callie's customized scale, Arizona was already between the line of 'fashionably late' and 'I invited my ex-wife for drinks and stood her up because she's a manic bitch'.

It was a very thin line.

At exactly 8:17:43 PM, though, the chimes by the bar's main entrance _clink_ ed and _clank_ ed, revealing a faintly disheveled Arizona, with her hair still down into soft, loose curls, clutching onto her beige coat as she entered. Smiling brightly at Callie out of acknowledgment, the blonde headed straight over to her. "Hey! Sorry, I'm a bit late."

A _bit_? 'A bit' almost became a reason for her to drink gin at _nine in the morning_. Alcoholic Callie needed to shut her trap. Overthinking Callie needed to not read much into anything. Sarcastic Callie, however, could be useful. "Yeah, I noticed that." The other woman glanced at the line of empty drinks in front of her, and the brunette had the decency to look sheepish, "I, um, started the party early on my own, I hope you don't mind."

"No, no, not at all," Arizona chuckled. "Besides, I'm the one who's late. I had to go to an emergency surgery with Hunt." She slid easily onto the seat beside her and sat down, smiling contentedly. "Accident in the shower. Both mom and baby were slightly unstable after a small stumble."

Despite knowing exactly what might have happened, Callie still asked, "How did it end?" The outcome could be seen from miles away, judging from Arizona's quirky grin.

True enough— "It hasn't ended yet. But there _will_ be a cute, healthy baby boy for the Martinez family in five months," she beamed. "And for that," the blonde began almost unsurely, forcing and plastering a weak smirk on her lips, "I think I'd love a free drink. From you."

Which caused Callie to slowly stop with her movements. Hook, line, and sinker. Checkmate. The reality wasn't sinking in yet, but— huh. Free drink. The quietness must have gone on too long, since Arizona began to laugh uncomfortably.

"That's 'assuming creep' for you, Callie."

She flinched, remembering her ramble earlier, "Sorry about that, by the way, in case I haven't said it yet."

"It's fine," the blonde waved her hand dismissively. "So. Free drinks are too soon, huh? I'll keep that it mind."

Was it? Too soon?

Didn't feel like it.

"I don't... I don't think it's too soon."

Arizona smiled sympathetically, "You sure?"

Swallowing heavily, Callie nodded then dumbly offered the black plate to her left, with an equally unsure smile.

"I have cheese fries."

Then a light blush crept up to her ears, when the other woman sent her a coy smile and removed her thin jacket, showing a black cotton sweatshirt that hugged her arms and the curves of her waist, which contrasted well with her milky, pastel skin. If she had yet to mention it, it was an off-the-shoulder top.

Arizona was wearing an off-the-shoulder top. And incidentally, Callie really, really, really loved off-the-shoulder tops on Arizona. She was doing a relatively good job of not reading too much into anything.

Pushing on with what might be newly-found courage, the blonde attempted to jest with a small grin, "So you have cheese fries and a line of drinks. And I have nothing." Maybe fake courage. "Interesting."

She's not so sure if the other woman knew what she was insinuating, what she was going into. Or what they _are_ going into. Would it be against the rules, for marriages-that-ended-on-a-bad-note and in attempting to be friends with an ex, to buy her a drink? Callie didn't know any answer to that.

But buying drinks— friends could do that to each other. Friends _do_ that. And she thought she'd want to be like that with her.

"What would you like?"

"I'll have white wine, please."

Callie smiled at her choice and beckoned the new bartender for a glass for the woman sitting next to her. Some points haven't changed, and she felt incredibly giddy by the fact— it's still white wine and red wine for the two of them. Plenty of things are not the same, though.

They're divorced, they take care of their child in separate quarters, they don't wear their matching heart necklaces and rings. And they're starting to be friends, she thought. Only friends.

* * *

Two bottles, one empty and one half-finished, now laid for them on the tabletop. These had been the inanimate witnesses to a misery, which they'd both thought was simply an enjoyable conversation about fistulas. A guy had come to them at some point in the middle of their dialogue, perhaps to hit on them, but he'd left them quickly like his life depended on it, shock written all over his face. The night, so far, has been equal parts tragic and amusing.

Arizona laughed over her wine, "Wow, where do kids these days even get their pick-up lines?"

"Some blog, probably. It's both a blessing and a curse of the internet," and Callie eyed her for a second, squinting her down. Then she giggled. _Giggled._ "I think you broke him and his yuppie heart."

For half a second, Arizona got distracted. Callie's smile was so bright and dazzling that stars could be born from the whiteness of her teeth and Arizona Robbins could be a producer of one whole heap of cliches.

"What, _I_ broke him?"

"Oh, don't be like that. Don't act innocent. I don't have to spell it out for you," she said, raising her eyebrows at her expectantly, as if the blonde would get her point more if she did. Arizona still didn't get it. "The Dimples, Arizona. It's The Dimples with capitals T and D and a little trademark sign by the top."

Warmth spread over the blonde's face as she chuckled at the description, "Okay, fine. Guilty as charged for possession of The Dimples."

"And for exploitation," the brunette smirked weakly before a ghost of a frown came to her lips, "but it's not just that." And this time, Arizona raised her eyebrows. "You're just… you're kind of dressed up tonight. Casual... but still standing out, y'know," Callie mumbled to her, while biting down on her fry. "Were you supposed to be someplace else?"

"Aside from Alex's?" Arizona twirled her wineglass, looked into it, and took a sip. Bottles, dinnerware, and the sound of ice cracking inside buckets clattered around them. "No," she smiled, "not really."

"And?" the brunette tried to press on, her expression still puzzled. Still intrigued.

"And nothing, Callie." The blonde blushed again slightly, a corner of her lips quirking up a bit as she looked away, "I just haven't had the time to do laundry, okay. Our go-to dry-cleaning was closed for the week, so all my 'professional doctor' clothes are-," Arizona drunkenly mouthed a _poof_ sound, making Callie laugh. (Both of them didn't miss the use of the word 'our', but they don't address it.) She motioned to her sweater, "This gem was just hacked off the mall".

"Well, it's a gem, alright."

She supposed that was the extent of their hour-long small talk. Fistulas, laundry, and everything else. But it was still incredibly and incredulously nerve-wracking despite it being only about those— like, really, the nerves are practically just there, ticking her off, like the constant gratuitous violence in _Robocop_. Arizona used to share personal stuff with Callie all the time. And so much more.

Sometimes, it'd be on bed. On the couch.

In the shower.

Against the kitchen counter.

(The key term being _used to_.)

"You did always not like it," Callie commented, filled another round in her glass. She took a long sip. "You always hated having to resort to hand-wash all our clothes."

There was the 'our' again.

"That I did."

And the other woman laughed again, her sense of humor now probably clouded from drinking. Callie has always had such a sweet, happy laugh. A very melodious sound to get caught up on. It always had a nice ring in it, the way it would kind of just rumble out of her chest. It rarely happened that the sound be shared around her, since all types of stony awkwardness went to them.

Tipsy at the least, Callie erupted into laughs once more, out of nowhere. But Arizona doesn't tire of it. She could never get enough of it. After all, it has been even more uncommon that the cause of that sound be something she herself had said, something she had done.

Her— Arizona Robbins.

The self-destructive wife who had resented and cheated on Callie Torres. The woman who had left Callie Torres in Sea-Tac for ruptured spleens in Africa. The same woman who Callie Torres left in the therapist's office seven months ago.

It would be a bad lie if she would say that the brunette's laughter didn't make her feel sunny.

Suddenly, the air dropped around them. Callie finished up her wine, set it carefully on the counter, and spoke, "I checked on Mer. Before I went home earlier."

It wasn't a conversation Arizona really wanted to have in a bar. In anywhere else, really. The entire hospital had been in complete shambles as soon as the news of Derek's untimely death came. Shook the gossip mill straight to the core.

She wasn't particularly close to him. But they had been through a lot together, she could admit— especially during the darker times. When everything in life just seemed to be all about the plane crash, even when they'd silently begged for it not to be. The event itself was catastrophic, but what'd come after was more so. And they had gone through that together.

To hell and back.

"Yeah? What happened?"

"I don't know. She was quiet. But she told me some stuff before I left her alone. He-," her voice shook imperceptibly. But she carried on, sighed out, "Derek— uh, Derek was involved in two different car accidents on his way to the airport."

Arizona held her glass close to her mouth. Looked up to brown eyes. "Two?"

"She said he saved this bunch of people, the first time. Got them all safely into ambulances."

"McDreamy-style."

"Yeah," she bitterly smiled. "Always living up to his McName." Until McDreamy died. But that was left unsaid. "It was the second time," Callie stopped a moment to close her eyes, hold her bearings, "when a truck came out of nowhere." Her voice trailed off at that, and they both fell silent.

The fact that he had been on a car accident in itself was already digging out a lot of bad feelings, and, god, it was too much. The universe was too much. Reminding her all over again of the worst day of her life. Because a fucking truck came out of nowhere. "Dead-on-scene?"

The brunette shook her head. Touched, more like fidgeted, on her fries again. "He went under surgery, but the hospital wasn't very adept with trauma," she said, shifting in her chair, her irises dimming slowly. "He was brain-dead after one craniotomy."

"And Grey pulled the plug," Arizona finished for her.

She nodded. Sighed, "And Grey pulled the plug."

Derek Shepherd had survived robbers with guns, bombs, hospital shootings, plane crashes— and some car crashes. He was a doctor, a brilliant one— and he'd died because of several doctors' incompetence? That made her angry out of her mind. But most of all, it just made her sad.

He was truly a dear, good man. Probably deserved a star to be named after him on his own right. And to have made a hard, permanent decision such as pulling the plug for him? Meredith Grey is outlandishly brave.

Difficult doesn't even begin to cover the choice, or the lack of it, of letting things go— of letting people go. Sometimes, you could only be left at a standstill for so many times between fighting for what you love most, not giving anything up, and setting them free. Arizona knew how broken you could be, if that battle became too much. And she also knew how it's possible, no matter how she may have thought of otherwise before, to rebuild yourself by yourself. Entirely from scratch.

Arizona knew all of that.

"Want to get shots? Drink this out?" she proposed.

Because they just needed to drink this out. It's a new thing, she decided. A new thing for new things. Dancing it out right now would feel disrespectful to the dead, the wife who had been left, and the person who had gone off to to the brilliant unknown.

As Callie's dark eyes slowly went wide, as did Arizona's. Maybe it was also disrespectful to drink this out, she mentally mused. But then the other woman just suddenly chuckled at her, and somehow, it had made everything better. A cure for a rainy day.

"We should."

They decided to drink, everything in and for memory. She decided for herself that it was for all the demise and capping love surrounding them.

They ordered five shot glasses each. As soon as they were served, Callie immediately tipped two down in succession, throwing back her head. Arizona was rendered speechless. She watched marks from a dark scarlet lipstick bond divinely to the transparent surface, before the glasses were consequently slammed down the table. Blue eyes transfixed of their own accord, Arizona resolutely glanced up at Callie to snap out of it. Watched the bar's incandescent, orange light play on her face.

But then she got drawn to a more dangerous part. Something she loved but shouldn't. Probably shouldn't. It was like candy for a sugar-loving diabetic. Arizona could still remember how Callie's lipstick had always tasted like candy— bubblegum, really— and she tried, oh, she _tried_ to shake herself out of her thoughts. It probably tasted different now, anyway. The color tonight was of a shade she didn't know.

She drank a shot too. Then another.

Taking a chance to glimpse on her right, Arizona saw the brunette openly lick her lips after taking another shot. She also noticed the other woman woman notice her notice. The blonde attempted to look away, afraid of a reaction about to come. Nothing came, though, much to her relief and not. It was as confusing as it seemed.

Already done with her five shots, Callie then gave her a goofy grin, her head slightly swaying to the lull of music in the background. "I win," she sang. She was now on the verge of being drunk, most probably. Raising a child and other activities of domestic variety had somewhat tamed both their alcoholic streaks.

"It's not a competition," she reminded her.

"Or," the brunette waggled her eyebrows, "is it?"

"No."

That was the only thing she could manage to voice out— no drunken confidence in her three glasses of white and two of tequila shots. Almost forming a small routine, the blonde smiled weakly again. Averted her sight again. It's become a habit.

"Your sweatshirt looks nice on you, by the way," she heard Callie husk, and Arizona cocked her head to the side, willing herself to look straight into brown eyes this time. Callie held it, the gaze, almost intimately, and leant forward a little, whispering, "It's like... you glow."

Arizona smiled. Weakly again.

"Thanks."

This should stop— they both should. Stop getting stuck into prolonged eye contact. Callie needed to stop coming closer. Arizona needed to stop staring at her lips. But it tingled her spine, exhilarating rushes all over, fine hairs rising on the back of her neck. Those dark eyes also wandered down to her mouth, in a way they weren't supposed to, and Arizona could notice a similar struggle. She notices, because she also looks. The two women smiled at each other, then looked away. And then they giggled like they were not adults as if playing a funny game of their own.

Except they _were_ adults. They were both grown-ass women. Alcohol-drinking, grown-ass women. So maybe they were adults on the outside, but never grown-ups. People don't really grow up, she thought.

"'It's like you glow'," Callie suddenly mocked herself, blurting it out over a loud laugh. "Now, that's bad flirting 101."

Plastering a smile on her lips, Arizona said, "Yep. Bad flirting alright."

The human life is too short for people to grow up.

Arizona downed her third shot.

They were going to be friends.

* * *

 **A/N:** I really appreciate all of you who are still picking this up! This one felt all over the place; college hell week is really screwing me up. And this is kind of irrelevant, but— Maggie/DeLuca's pretty great. Maggie is a fabulous character this season, period.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3** Stand by Me

 _05:14 PM, 28 March 2015. Grey-Shepherd Residence._

They were all wearing black, something they'd been taught to do as a child. And it was like a reunion of sorts, she thinks. Cristina Yang's inside the living room, standing in true form. Probably hiding a big-ass loot of Swiss chocolates in the black purse on her arm. And then from Texas and via Skype, even Teddy Altman had offered her sincerest respects and heartfelt apologies of being unable to come.

The burial reaching its end three hours ago has yet to sink in, until a wild Addison Montgomery appeared on her sight with an unopened bottle of Merlot. Callie looked at Addison, then at the dark green bottle, before staring back at Addison again. She frowned slightly.

"Hey. Want some red?" Addison asked. She was dressed smartly with a handsome pantsuit and prim cuff links. But she spoke to her with the breath of a drunk.

Callie ominously eyed the Merlot in the other woman's hand again. Since that wine tasting class she'd went with Arizona pre-plane crash and all those years ago, her entire perspective on the wine subject has _changed._ Not just changed, but _changed_. At first, they'd just gone along with the wine sniffing and the 'proper way of holding a wineglass' to mock how elitist and strict and snooty everything was. But, in the end, they were devoured by the same snootyness, and immediately, Pinot Noir was of high appraisal to their tastebuds while Merlot practically made you a wine aficionado social outcast. Thus, the stark printed letters of m, e, r, l, o, and t on the label now bother her to certain extents.

"Callie?"

"Hm?"

"I asked you," Addison said, "if you wanted some wine."

"Oh! No thanks," she replied with a tight-lipped smile. "You're late."

"I am."

"Why? Where did you come from?"

"Hell."

Probably one of the most inappropriate things to mention after a funeral. "Addison," the brunette chastised even as she chuckled. "Seriously. You're late."

"Does it really make any difference?" Callie isn't sure if she'd just entered an alternative world and heard the other woman fake a sniffle. "I'm really hurt, Torres," Addison tipped her head down slightly, gray eyes shadowed. "Like, I know I didn't really call ahead or RSVP for this. I know that. Not that there were invitations but... I really, really thought that," she sighed in disappointment, "I'd at least get a welcome from you."

At first, Callie was silent. She'd counted the number of 'really's in her head out of playful instinct but has inevitably lost it. It was a poor attempt to call out on Addison suddenly being out-of-character in less than thirty seconds, but the brunette only grew— puzzled. "You didn't call?"

"Um, no...?"

" _Um_ , why?"

Addison's natural prerogative was to fix her a look. "If you don't remember, you were quite pissed at me, Callie. And I _admit_ that I deserved the piss, which is why I'm here in front of you. Low-key groveling on my knees." Callie's grin then became nothing short of a schmuck's. "Oh, shut that thing on your mouth off. I'm being the bigger person here, okay. It's my peace offering to you," the other woman asserted coolly in a low murmur, her manicured eyebrow arched ala-Addison and her contempt so obvious and so fake. And so inebriated. "And if I have the capability and resources and time to be here, of course I would come. Physical presence is much, much better than a phone call."

Jamming a hand in the pocket of her slacks, the brunette tapped her foot against the wooden floor of the dream house patio, deep in thought. She smiled ruefully.

"Well, you're really late."

Even as they'd already been let out, the words sat heavily in her throat. Addison wasn't late— she was too late. It was grim secret-speak only a few could understand.

(Because Derek's dead, and everyone is silent.)

"I know." Addison almost turned sober immediately despite the thoughts garbling in her head. "I was already there. I mean I was supposed to stand there with all of you. At the funeral. Maybe cry near the gravestone and put a bouquet of Sylvias for him," she muttered. "Derek used to like the most blue ones. He had a mini-garden of them back in New York." _When they were married. When he was alive._

"We didn't see you at the cemetery."

"Yeah, but I saw you all. I still came," Addison shrugged. "I just couldn't handle it. So I hid behind an oak tree and ran and called for an Uber." Without contrite, she laughed, "Don't take this the wrong way, but your ignorance is quite reassuring. Thank god no one saw me. I must have looked like Cinderella having a mid-life crisis."

Surprisingly, Callie could imagine. She wanted to comment on how a Cinderella who'd dye her hair auburn was just an Ariel who talks to rats instead of crabs. But she opted on leaving it at that. It wasn't a hard issue to ignore, seeing as something funny-smelling from Addison had been wafting to her nose for a minute now. Callie had to subtly backpedal, quizzing the other woman to distract, "Oh. But why did you arrive just... now?"

Addison grimaced, "I went to the liquor store first."

Unsurprisingly, Callie could imagine.

" _Oh_."

"I knew I should have brought Henry." The redhead looked crestfallen, though it's masked behind a perfect poker face. Its form, its architecture, a childhood full of elitist dinner parties and fake smiles, was rather familiar. But the mask broke as Addison smiled. Uncharacteristically wistful. "Cute babies are the best buffers for any social interaction. He would've known what to do, he's a smart cookie."

"Why not Jake?" Callie had once been briefed about the spontaneous therapy-talking, thus naturally social, abilities of Addison's husband, Jake Reilley, and seemingly the rest of their private practice team. "He's the man-wife, and that's what man-wives are for. They're... buffers," she said.

Addison sent her a look, "Men are no help, Callie."

She searched for a rebuke. Came up with none.

"Besides, Amelia would just ignore me more."

Callie realized she couldn't argue with that either. "Hey. You of all people should know that it's not personal," was the sole best thing she could say to her friend.

"If I had to hear that my ex-husband died from my former mother-in-law— who I don't exactly see eye-to-eye with anymore— I'm having a real, hard time thinking that the silent treatment isn't personal." The redhead sighed, determined in emptying out her rant box, "But if I came with Henry? She would've had to look me in the eye for at least once before ignoring me and saying hi to him instead! His Auntie Amy should owe him that much, so help me god."

It sounded on the edge of sad and pathetic. Almost out of herself, the brunette thought as she pursed her lips. Mama Shepherd and the three Shepherd Sisters were quiet, Amelia especially quieter. But Meredith was the quietest. Her eyes since then had been wild and bitter and just _silent_ at everybody's knowing looks and faded condolences. She reels the anger in, a small smile that she doesn't mean permanently sculpted on her lips.

Idly, Addison shook her head, raked her fingers through her hair. "Can we," she started quietly, "can we just become friends again? So I wouldn't look like a lonely pariah here? Because," she was still whispering as she said, "I don't wanna look like that, okay. LA people are hip and cool and lovers of margaritas, and I've converted to being an LA people. Or person," Addison corrected herself. "Whatever."

An entire month ago, when Callie had needed a person to talk to about how her ex had caught her kissing said ex's _crazy ex_ (one of the oddest happenstances in her life), Addison had just laughed vulgarly at her. Asking where all the lesbians had come from all of a sudden. Joking about how her life had become a small, failed reboot of _The L Word_.

It was the happiest sound Callie's ever heard her make. Like her life has truly turned towards the greener side, at long last. Still, she had hung up, putting her foot down and never divulging any more of her 'hot dating situations'. Since then, Addison (by herself) had concluded their friendship to be on a break.

"Sure." The relieved look on Addison's face didn't take too long to make her grin. "How many glasses have you had to drink already, cool LA person?"

Eyes narrowed pointedly at her, glower nearing half-liddedness. "I'm kid-free for once, prude Seattle person. Gimme a break."

They shared a quiet laugh afterwards, and it had felt incredibly fake. Being happy in the midst of a reminder about deaths. But they could be happy, she thought. Life is to be celebrated, even if it's been lost. And they were both still alive. They had jobs, cars, and kids.

Addison just had a ring on her finger and Callie didn't. The gold band she had used to wear daily had gone untouched for months. Inside a leather box, placed in the deepest part of her dressing table's drawer.

Silently, the brunette sipped on her wine and turned her head. Watched the sight of Arizona— rocking their daughter, drowsy, snuggly, and close-to-sleep against her chest, golden tendrils framing her face slowly bobbing up and down, while swaying by the swinging bench on the terrace at the other side.

"So."

Addison was eager to jump on the extended olive branch, "So...?"

"Arizona and I are also friends now."

"Wow. You _are_ ," the other woman parroted. It was almost guised like a question but not. "Do you... want to talk about your second post-divorce life?"

Did she? Did Callie want to talk and mourn about the greatest love of her life while also mourning a dead friend? "No."

Though the covert, calculating gaze of her gray eyes didn't cease, all Addison had told her in reply was, "Okay." She'd always been privy, always trying to be respectful and be 'the objective one' if needed when grief would kick Callie in the chest. "So we're happy about this, right?"

"We are," she told her. "We are."

Addison could have nodded for all she knew, but Callie just ignored her immediate surroundings for a while. She only stared ahead. Didn't move to regard the redhead now unslyly peering and prying behind her shoulder and following her line of sight.

It's only a while later before the other woman aired out to her, "Derek and I spent fifteen years together. _Fifteen_. I married him when we were on med school, when life was... fine and dandy. But I don't think we've ever been friends." She paused. Crossed her arms over her chest. "But he's dead now, and I'm here at his funeral now, and..." Addison's nose was turning red. Almost sloshedly, she put an arm on Callie's shoulder then leant her forehead over it, breaking out a noiseless laugh, "God, I can't believe I'm at his gorgeous, gorgeous house in the woods for the first time while I'm fucking drunk."

Smiling acquiescently, Callie commented, "Well, your non-sequitur is quite telling of your drunken state, so that's one way of putting it."

"I was gonna lead up to the point of my pep talk." Addison lifted her head up from her shoulder and took a moment to watch her, "You really don't want to talk about it?"

"No. It's okay... I get what you want to say. I know."

"Are you sure?"

Callie's lips slightly trembled. "No."

Addison sighed, "Callie, honey..."

"But it's fine and we're _fine_ and that's what's important," she stressed in a low, quiet voice. "I mean, would you want to talk about it? About him? Now?"

The disappointment in Addison's voice was obvious as it can be when she tilted her head to the vision by the terrace and echoed lowly, "No."

"Good."

They continued to stare under this blanket of quiet, as if reaching a tacit mutual understanding. Because everything _should_ be understandable.

Sofia, with her formerly-braided hair all in a mess of strands and twisted locks, falling into deep slumber, the way Arizona used to doze in on that area between Callie's neck and clavicle— ivory, toned arms wrapped tightly right below her breasts, a button nose nudged on her skin— as if gently sucking in all of her peppermint fragrance and breathing it on even patterns— should be understandable enough.

* * *

 _03:56 PM, 07 April 2015. Peds Floor._

A few days have gone by when they'd discovered that Meredith and the kids have disappeared out of plain sight. A new month has rolled in when they had started to realize that they were not coming back.

It's been two days past Easter, and April was telling of an enlistment with Hunt on a tour. The news led her to be delighted for three seconds and half. At least, before dreadfully asking about her silently grieving friend's silently grieving husband.

Her question was simply met with a low, sardonic laugh. And while it didn't suit April too well, it was the only answer Arizona needed. Arizona also laughed when she was asked to offer advice for marriages on the rocks. But she did it anyway, in her own roundabout manner— "Just hope that he'll understand it soon." Words of wisdom that she herself should have followed, before it was all too late.

"You mean, blindly hope?"

Shrugging slightly, Arizona offered, "If all else fails, just do whatever. I don't know... you could pray?"

April's voice was only low and quiet, still not quite her, "Right... pray." And then she gave her something akin to a half-smile, what she could only muster, a different sort of light now behind her eyes, "I'll just keep it in mind. Thanks."

And much like what her brother had used to do to her all the time, Arizona ruffled the redhead's hair affectionately. Then she left wordlessly. She didn't want to make everything sadder than it already was.

It was something that Tim had loved doing often to her. (And she had loved it, too.) Warm comfort had been in the manner his calloused hands would seem smooth, when it slightly grazed her scalp, when his fingers gently slid through her hair— how it felt so natural, which she could never and would never learn to fathom. Because Timothy Robbins was dead. As were Derek, Mark, Lexie, and George— the list could go o-

"Arizona!"

The blonde yelped, dropping her paper cup, when a warm hand reached atop her shoulder, making her jump a little. Like she'd been electrocuted. A touch far too familiar. Trigger-happy with all her defense mechanisms at any time and any place.

Wincing, Callie shifted her weight between her feet and quickly picked up the trash that had fallen. After recovering, she abashedly spoke, "Oh, god. I'm so sorry, uh, I just," and Arizona's starting to hate how she's so weak against the nervous and oh-so-vulnerable Torres puppy eyes, "I just have a favor to ask... of you. It's no biggie, really."

Callie's reputation as person who'd never say 'biggie' has just collapsed, but— "Hey, no, it's fine. It was empty already!" the blonde exclaimed, with a grin too wide and radiant, like she had all the joy in the world. Cheerful and always overcompensating. "Um, what's up?"

Plump lips flattened, frowning, as Callie reluctantly straightened to her full height. Her eyelids flicked almost rapidly. She opened her mouth. Closed it. And her puppy look took an entire new level.

Arizona almost snapped.

"Sofia," the brunette finally drawled out, fingers toying with the cup's rim, "wants us to help her bake lasagna for dinner." A pink flush pressed on her skin, "I wanted to ask you if that's okay. If, y'know, you want to play pretend-cooking just for three hours, tops. Like… a family dinner?"

And while her brows were probably winged up right now in amusement, the blonde was pretty sure that something new and different had really just taken over them. It had, for a while now, she realized. But it still felt frustrating.

Still too damn familiar.

"Are you asking if I want to spend more time with our daughter," Arizona struggled to halt her smirk from forming, "who I only see every other week?"

Unlike her, Callie didn't even try _not_ -smiling.

"I'll take that as a yes, then?"

Before her face could be devoured by pearly whites, the blonde just sketchily half-shrugged, turning away as abruptly as she could. Cool and disaffected. But it wasn't too long before she looked back at the other woman, who merely stood there. Thunderstruck and mouth hanging open.

Swiftly, the brunette first made a stop by the garbage can to throw the cup and quick-stepped along her side. "Wait, I-, I know I can be really dense sometimes but— did I miss something?" Arizona remained quiet, still continued to laughingly ignore her, and so Callie huffingly called out, jogging more quickly, "What's going on? I thought-"

She faced her again— Callie's face, wild-eyed, was rather making it hard for her not to enjoy it. Not to tease. It's been so long since she felt this light. Arizona almost spared her till an elated feeling overcame to her. Her expression turned theatrically solemn as she smiled with a deliberate hint of hurt and said, "Callie... _the fame thing isn't real, you know_."

The other woman stopped. Her mouth slightly hung open again. She's still the most confused person in Seattle right now, but her eyes flashed in recognition at that starting line. Arizona knew that Callie knew that line like the back of her hand.

"What?" she asked anyway.

"Don't forget... I'm just a girl... standing in front of another girl," Arizona channeled the thickest Julia Roberts accent she could have. And slowly, she enunciated, "Taking _issue_ on the 'pretend-cooking' comment."

Callie was speechless again.

Eventually, Arizona's cheeks went red from trying to contain a laugh. And she was pleased, because why wouldn't she be? She just fucking nailed that _Notting Hill_ ad-lib to placate a few insecurities. The movie, after all, was a favorite of Escapist Romantics Callie-and-Arizona. It's, like, another string that can't be severed for their budding friendship. (She has no idea what she's talking about, but she was going with it.)

However, now, it just seemed to heighten the other woman's discomfort. Making Arizona finally come to her senses. Cringe at herself. The only thing that wasn't happening right now, was her peeing her pants. The idea of adapting a famous romantic film reference into mundane dialogue (with her _ex-wife_ , nonetheless) seemed much prettier and more pink in her head. And, yes— it was really something that had just passed through her rational mind.

The brain is the human body's most mysterious organ.

"What, you don't cook," the brunette chuckled awkwardly. Apparently, Callie was more shocked by that, compared to her improvised acting. Arizona couldn't help but take it to true offense.

"Did you seriously just ignore the most embarrassing Julia Roberts impersonation in the world? Who are you?"

"You don't _cook_ ," a flabbergasted Callie emphasized.

"I do _cook_ , Callie," Arizona insisted. "And I can cook a mean beef stroganoff. I watched the special Rachel Ray episode for it last week, and I'm ninety percent sure nothing can compare. I made it my _bitch_."

Callie's look turned questioning, as if it was saying 'I'll get back to you on that'. But dark eyes only glazed and shifted upon a somber new color as she said, "No, no, I'm sorry. I'm getting this out all wrong... I know you can cook." Her smile became ever-so-slightly quelling. Crooked and meek. "But you haven't... not since..."

Oh.

Mark.

Arizona should have seen that coming. But she didn't want to hear his name. And nor did Callie, she thought. Not now, not when fresh memories of another death close to them were still haunting their halls. So she cut into the similarly dead air, "I know," she smiled, "I know. But it's different now."

"Yeah... I can see that."

"In the House Karev of Seattle, I'm kind of the esteemed chef," she joked. Stealing a sideways glance at the other woman, while starting on their saunter, Arizona smilingly and unobtrusively declared, "I've changed."

And in that barely-there moment of silence, she was answered only by a squeak. A noisy squeak that could only be from rubber soles skidding on the polished floor. She took a half-circling step back, then swallowed it in. The demeanor has shifted, the wheels have turned.

"That's true."

Callie's words were adrift in her ear, voice up and alight in the air, and the blonde side-eyed her, even as she felt her body go limp, "You think so, too?"

She nodded. Smiled. "We're changed people now."

Arizona wondered if she knew what that meant.

She'd actually found that feeling again, long ago. The one she thought she would never find again, the one that had gone with Tim. Still, she'd screwed it up and lost the feeling she couldn't even name yet again. But then— simple nudges on the elbow and tanned fingers light on her arm happen, and all her mind could do is _remember, remember,_ and _remember._ And so, fleeting instances become the very, same things that root her to the ground. That keep her in.

(The 'pretend-cooking' ended with her face smeared with ricotta cheese mixture and meat sauce, and her heart unapologetically stopping as her eyes raked in two similar, mega-watt smiles. Like she'd been electrocuted.)

* * *

 _10:19 PM, 15 May 2015. OR 3 Scrub Room._

She stomped the sink on with her foot and leaned in to wash her hands. "I heard you handed Dreyfuss's ass off to her at the cafeteria, by the way." It sounded even more ridiculous and awe-striking, saying it out loud. And it felt weirdly energizing for the mind— knowing that her antagonist for the week had been told off by her ex-wife. "I know I should feel sorry for her, but— wow," she laughed, "what you did is just insanely amazing. Like hardcore amazing. Like badass amazing. Like-"

"Alright, alright, I get it."

Callie raised an eyebrow. "Wow, grumpus much?"

"No, no... I'm sorry. It's just, y'know," Arizona just droned absently, cheerlessly, and Callie couldn't help but notice. "It's just one of those days that's no different from any other day but sucks more out of you than it should. I'm just... _tired_."

Her forehead was crinkled under the pink, flowery scrub cap, and it was so tragically obvious how the other woman was just steeling herself, an underlying grimace on a paling face. It's the most sour she has ever seen her for a long time. As if bad blood has gone between them again. But Callie saw in her heart that they were in a good place. God knows that there was nothing to be anxious about.

Or was there?

She gulped loudly. Arizona might have heard her but didn't act like it. And when Callie had finally gathered the guts to ask, the inquiry was pacifying and soft, "Not feeling well?"

Again, there was the particular grimace darkening Arizona's blue eyes. And it grew significantly deeper, more of a look that could scare a chicken and make it lay an egg. "No," was her automatic answer, of course. "Just kind of peachy, I guess." The blonde finished with scrubbing out, teeth drawn between lips. She grabbed a towel and dried her hands off, then gave in, sighing, "It's just a really bad day for the bad leg."

Callie froze. Almost whimpered out of pride.

 _Way to go, Arizona! Baby steps! Unlearn everything you've learned! Communication! Is! Key! Vulnerability! Is! Completely! O! Kay!_

Their friendship thing is going fast and amazing, contrary to both of their initial thoughts. She didn't really know how, but, well, it had practically happened overnight. So to speak. Some people still saw it as something superficial or fake (she would too, if she wasn't one of the damn main characters of this gossip), but it still somehow and somewhat flowed naturally.

Of course, it wasn't easy for her, at first, when Arizona had started to appear in every turn she would make or in every existing corner there was.

In fact, Callie liked to believe that this was very, very difficult for both of them. Yet it's still happening— and Arizona's fucking everywhere, and she is torn, sometimes, between screaming out loud and grinning like an idiot.

But she didn't want to think about it too much, nor did she want to say anything out loud. So she would just keep the hold on her tongue, sucking it up. Act like nothing's new even when everything has completely changed, while the other woman would run her mouth, now turning more confident and more unfiltered and more sincere ( _with her_ ) every single day. Just shockingly honest, for the lack of a better label.

Sometimes, Callie would find herself trying to find a way out of it. It's unconsciously done and she always hated it when it would happen. She'd search for a slip-up or any hint of reluctance she could catch from Arizona— just to get the hell away and not face her. Not face the situation.

It's her who would always pull back and try to flee the scene. Callie would attempt to, for the most part.

"Would you want me to take a look?"

Arizona asked, "What?", though it had come out similar to a scoff. And yet her voice was really, terribly small and had sounded to be in so much pain. So Callie just overlooked it. She also overlooked the blonde licking her upper lip as she always did before her mouth curled decisively into a frown.

"Your leg," Callie explained carefully, taking a step closer, invading more into her space. "Can I take a look? See if I can help?"

Weakly, Arizona shook her head, hip settled against the sink, and right hand tugging on her pink scrub cap's strings. "No, Callie. You don't have to-"

"Okay, you're right, I don't have to. But I want to do it," the brunette insisted. Attentively, adamantly. Yet still, softly. "I want to." And damn it, she did want to. Which had surprised her as equally as it terrified her. But her face managed to remain stern, while she moved even closer, in spite of the blonde pulling away, sorely trudging backwards and sliding her hip across the edge of the sink.

Arizona began, her tone warning, "Callie, I can't-," then she almost slipped, her hand suddenly grabbing hold of the steel. A smack-dab _bang_ resounded through the soundproof room. Blue eyes were clenched shut, hiding under a near-broken facade. But the visibly shaking arms braced on the sink instantly gave her away. "C-Crap _._ "

Callie tried to give her space, "Are you okay?" She knew she wasn't. Callie just didn't know what else to ask. It's just one of those things that seem like it was right to be said, like 'everything's gonna be alright'. 'Tomorrow will be a better day'.

"I'm fine," she said tersely. Arizona rubbed an arm on her eye. "The floor's just slippery. Sorry."

Between them, 'sorry' had always meant a lot of things. It had always been the hardest to say and the hardest to hear. But it's different now. (Maybe if they kept on saying it to others and to themselves enough times, it would become real. Everything would be okay.) The brunette comfortingly murmured, empathetic, "You don't have to say that. You don't always have to be-"

"No, I have to be! I _am_ ," the other woman all but sadly choked out. "I can't make you do things like this anymore, Callie, I just can't!"

Callie could only sense the world around her just falling apart. Deflate immensely at how raw and bitter that had just been. Her throat almost closed up. She wasn't holding her breath, but she was still getting that same tightness in her chest that she'd feel whenever she went without air for too long— so she swallowed again.

"Arizona. You're not making me." The blonde only stared at her, gape still and considering. Focused. And her insides swelled with a peculiar warmth till she trembled with delirious apprehension. Callie tried again, urgency all leaked out, "Look... just let me help, please?"

She heard Arizona's tongue make a loud _click_ sound. "Don't," she said.

"Why?"

"I don't," and she sighed deeply, almost painfully, as if just regaining hold of her breath, "want you to be my doctor again. Ever again."

The small crack in the blonde's voice was just too much. Too much. She was going to explode. "I won't be your doctor then," the brunette whispered, the calmest she could be, despite being scared out of her mind. "I'll just be me."

There came the stony silence again. Normal people would probably call this a staring contest. The blonde, though, had dramatically titled this phenomena a 'battle between glances' once or twice. And now, Callie felt like it was more of a war.

"You don't understand." Bright, crystal clear blue eyes peering, Arizona whispered back, smiling tightly. Defeated. "I'm not your problem anymore, Callie. I can't be."

And from then on, something quite _unnatural_ happened in that very room. A somewhat well-thought out comeback to that emotional revelation— very much worthy to be from award-winning scriptwriting, she realized in the heat of the moment— which would usually only come up to her approximately two days after any important conversation she'd have, popped into Callie's dead. It drove and crashed tight splendidly, all in one instant. And she was possessed.

"But... but you won't be!" she told her as she inched forward and pulled ivory hands in hers. Gripped them gently yet tight. "You're gonna be Groot's problem!"

Of course, on this complete turn of events— _plot twist_ — reared its ugly head for the third time was the most tense and awkward of silences. By now, she probably looked as titillated as a madman. Goosebumps and sweat threaded and swam underneath her skin, panic simultaneously building up with trembles, shivers. Adrenaline pumped pure into her bloodstream, heart rate up through the roof-

Finally interrupting, Arizona let out a choked sound in between a laugh and a sob.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Her mind on overdrive and running in circles, Callie thought _that came out wrong_ and actually said, "That came out wrong."

The other woman only hum-grunted in pure agreement, brows drawn together in puzzlement, but her posture now beginning to relax, at the very least. Which was really all Callie could ask for one at a time. She let go of their hands, embarrassed.

"I mean, you're not a problem— not at all! It's just-," the brunette attempted to clarify, throat constricting, "G-Groot... can take good care of you." As much of a clarification as that can be.

Jaw a bit clenched, the blonde cleared her throat, "Groot... Groot's the talking tree, right? From Sof's movie of the month?"

The world stop spinning for about a millisecond. Her mouth dried. "Right," Callie confirmed. Solemnly. "The talking tree." Sweat gathering in her palms, she lightly gripped the sides of her scrub pants as the light atmosphere wavered, quieting. "I-I can be me, Arizona. I can be a talking tree if that's what you and I can be comfortable with," she amended slowly. Arizona watching her every move so closely was making her out-of-this-world nervous, and so she made up her mind, going for the final blow, "But just do it for me, please! Let me-"

"Okay," Arizona relented her answer quickly and quietly in an exhale that Callie almost couldn't hear. She loosened down to a fit of small, tight nods, mumbling, "Yeah... okay."

Callie visibly brightened up, "R-Really?"

Embarrassed, the blonde turned her head away from her and bit back a thankful smile, "I... yes. But... I'm only doing this for you."

"Because I asked so nicely?"

"Because you were so persistent," she groused.

There's a dazzling spark, however, in her eye that she could identify immediately, which twisted her insides up. Snarky comebacks from Arizona were always a good sign, and thus, Callie yielded by her own will— "Great." — unreservedly making her succumb to the biggest, shit-eating grin ever. "Just do it for me."

It's not out of obligation. She knew it in herself that it never was. And as she looked into the gaze staring back at her, terrified and bright, the sky clearing out of clouds, she knew it too— that Arizona also, finally, really understood it now. All these first breaking-of-the-barriers were really overwhelming for her heart. But she didn't care that much anymore.

"You're really gonna do Groot's voice while massaging my stump?" the blonde cheekily questioned. Apparently, Arizona could also still manage to teasingly ask about that, making her groan and roll her eyes.

A pained look overtook Callie's face as she spoke, "Please forget about that. For me too." Indeed, she didn't care much for others' thoughts and two cents anymore.

They could go suck it.

* * *

 _01:06 PM, 08 June 2015. Hospital Cafeteria._

By June, she was learning that she infinitely sucked at it. It's an ongoing thing, though, so it should be on present tense; therefore, she _sucks_ at it.

Because, yes, Arizona could admit it to herself now— how she completely sucks at not feeling ridiculously sunny after every shared Chinese takeout with her ex-wife. At not looking away fast enough from the mere sight of her ex-wife. At not enjoying her banters with her ex-wife. All those little things that would just stick to her.

"Bailey's giving us the evil eye again," Callie mused almost schemingly, her back facing the said evil eye. "It's like she patented it or something."

In true Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital fashion, once the news of their little emotional debacle in OR 3's scrub room came out, it _came_ _out._ Complete with flying colors, it had spread via hushed whispers within that very day, and had endured to stay in circulation for roughly three weeks now. Despite it being mostly false theories. A trauma nurse only saw their conversation muted, after all, and everybody knew trauma nurses were kind of horrible with gossip.

For a short while, they had been thankful and very much appreciative of the power of soundproofing. But the hot topic seemed like it wasn't meant to die a quick death. So, eventually, they'd both thought _eh, what the heck_ and just proceeded with their lives to ignore, go out with it, and repeat.

"That's not entirely impossible. She's Bailey."

Ever so perky these days, the blonde slurped on her straw purposefully loud.

There were only two possible choices on who she's been trying to annoy more. Firstly, it could be Miranda Bailey, the intimidating observer sitting on the table near them, with a glare that could eat people alive. Secondly, it could be Callie, the nervous protagonist mentally chewing on her hair. Arizona herself couldn't decide her decided victim. But she can't deny the satisfaction she felt, lips quirking up slightly to a small grin, when she saw gritted, white teeth.

The brunette hissed, "Stop that." Her dark eyes went all-out alarmed, "She's gonna know we're talking about her."

"Oh, of course." Again, and strictly for the scientific purposes of friendly teasing, Arizona peeked openly at the object of their attention, even going so far as giving her a small, casual wave, nodding to Bailey with a smile. Faux-conclusively, she said, leaning in to the other woman, "I'm pretty sure she hasn't noticed."

And despite the restrained amusement and the half-formed grin on her face, Callie chastised her, "That's nice, but shut up, really. And I mean that in the most respectful manner, _Dr. Robbins._ " So, clearly, 'Dr. Robbins' in that tone just really translated to 'get your head out of your ass'. Right?

"My apologies, Dr. Torres," she played along for a second with a chuckle. Then, putting the cup down to her tray and hooking stray golden strands right behind her left ear, Arizona silently mulled over something. Something she's been thinking about for a while now. "Callie?"

"What?"

"Do you really think it's bad?"

She didn't have to say anymore. They both had gone into this, knowing that they'd be fools if they were going to think that this would be a complete and total piece of cake— which, to be fair with scientific facts, it isn't. Because this thing is really, really, really _hard_. It's arduous, it's annoyingly difficult.

And it is absolutely a very fine piece of cake.

Dark brown eyes are quick to hold onto her blues. "Never," she said firmly. Her tone was one of finality. Decisive and unbowing.

Arizona breathed out, "Okay, good." The word 'never' continued to repeat in the back of her head, lowering in octaves and staying and lingering. And the blonde is more than slightly amped up to go and run off to the most red of sunsets. Or, perhaps, change the topic. "She must really think that this is beyond weird. How many times has it been now?"

"Uh," and Callie scrunched her forehead, pausing in thought, before pouting, "I'd say about twenty-two? If we count from the first lunch date."

There's also that— Arizona takes the word 'date' in stride now, as well as the one whole beat that her unfortunate heart skips.

Because that's what it was, what all these twenty-two meetings were. A lunch date. She had always known what it meant, they both did. They understood it. They just don't talk about it too much, not in depth— because what else was there that they could talk about now? Certainly, not the fairy tales and romance that they'd had once with each other.

Not sex, not dating. Certainly, never love.

But Arizona still wanted to ask something, tempted and tired of not always giving in to the small but always significant wants of her poor, poor heart. So she just came right out with it, voice trembling a little, "So... do you also think that, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"That this is beyond weird."

Idly, Callie stopped to stare at her, swirling the straw on her iced tea. Then she grinned wryly as she replied, "You're asking a whole bunch of questions today."

"I guess... it's because I'm a little unsure." Arizona added quietly, "Of how you think. I-I don't know if we're on the same page as I think we are."

Callie's face softened. "Of course we are."

"Then... is it weird? Still?"

The brunette shrugged, "Well, you know. I don't see why it's not. Some things are bound to be weird in some ways."

"Oh," the blonde mumbled, sight averting to her lap. "Yeah... I suppose." And she nodded tautly to herself, as if thoroughly convinced of this whatsoever feeling she couldn't really name right now before sagging down to the table. Chin gingerly placed atop her folded arms, she released an inaudible sigh, "I mean, the Groot thing _was_ kind of strange, wasn't it?"

The other woman looked like she was about to spit on her drink, and it almost, almost seemed like it really was going to happen. Arizona slightly felt a tinge of worry— if she's finally pushed this friendship thing too far. Because she seemed to screw up everything that's good in her life, no matter what it was. It was the only logical assumption. But then Callie immediately sobered up, agreeing with her, laughing and looking happy while with her, and they're so much of a familiar and unfamiliar picture in the open for all their colleagues to see, and now, Arizona just sort of felt like having big fat tears well up in her eyes.

"You're not going to let me live that down ever, are you?"

"Well, I'd want Groot to live."

Laughing, the brunette remarked, "Imagine if it'd really happened. That probably would've been the freakiest roleplaying we've ever done."

They can joke about it now. It's funny now. And it should be, Arizona determinedly thought. Because Callie was suffocating and needed to be free from being stuck with a person who's stuck.

And so she laughed with her too.

* * *

 _06:58 PM, 04 July 2015. Seattle Waterfront Park._

When this particular thing had happened, they were with an over-excited Sofia running on sugar rush, and had winded up deciding to watch the fireworks display in the nearby park. And like other recent 'family bonding activities', Callie and Arizona did and went to it together. But not _together_.

Boundaries, they never forget.

She was sitting by a small picnic table, not too mindful of the clinking coins noisily rolling down on change-operated telescopes, as the dusk airs had settled in languorously on the port district, the clock tick-and-tocking closely to eight.

And the particular thing that had happened, was straightened light tresses flying along the breeze, contrasting with the descending twilight. To be more specific, it was Arizona pacing towards her with three hotdogs-on-sticks in her hands. And calling out to her. She was only nine long steps away, and yet she was yelling her name.

However, it wasn't really her name, per se. It's not the name that she normally went by in her daily life. Not the name she'd first introduce herself with to strangers. But then it's the same one— and she remembered this because she always would— the same set of syllables that would cause for her to wince and shudder in disgust. Mainly because she was teased for it a lot, as a kid.

Yet it'd also make her heart set out on warm somersaults when it would perfectly roll off Arizona's tongue. Like it's meant to be. Because every time she would say it, it's as if it's this really, really special thing. And her eyes would be all sparkling and blue and intense while they'd lock with hers in a gaze.

It was endearing, the careful way she would say her name. And so freaking _warm_ it was insane. Like it's a treasured, little secret between them.

The blonde's voice was loud and booming and distinctive amidst blurred chatter, as she bellowed for her again, now five steps closer. It might seem fair and fitting to the watching eyes who didn't know their story— the freaking, disarmingly brilliant smile on the fair face directed at her— but it was quite an alien feeling, actually.

And it just delighted her to no end.

So when Arizona finally arrived, asking her if she had some extra coins to give, because the stall owner had no change for bills, and called her _Calliope_ while doing it— like she hadn't even noticed the change— all in the same instant, Callie sensed the fireworks exploding. Both above her head and in her chest. And she could only think about how right everything in that moment truly was.

* * *

 **A/N:** I've long accepted that I'm a mess in writing and updating this, but thank you for all the added support! Really, it means a lot to me. Hopefully, with my upcoming break, I can make time for the next (perhaps longer) one.

Also, I stand in solidarity with the rest of the Calzona fandom, as we shall continue to witness our ladies' _new romances_ with others for the following episodes. Grey's is getting harder and harder to watch, especially if you're also one who dies a little inside every Callie/Penny kissing scene.

 **EDIT:** Sorry, small upload drama. The next will be up tomorrow, or at most, as soon I have my laptop again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4** Ain't No Sunshine

 _03:08 PM, 12 August 2015. OR 1._

"It's not a big deal, okay? So let's just put this down and finish this surgery and get on with the rest of our lives. Okay?" Callie just rolled her eyes in response, muttering something under her breath. And though a mask hid her mouth, Arizona squished her lips together in discontent. She put on her Grizzly Mama-bear voice and said, "Don't you roll your eyes at me, young lady. I really appreciate the concern, but as the person _involved_ in the situation, I say it's not a big deal."

"Okay, _Mom_ ," Callie said sarcastically.

"Again. Say it again, Calliope. Properly."

Callie glared at her, almost testing Arizona's patience, then shook her head in defiance. "You know what, no. It _is_ a big deal!" she still bothered to stage-whisper despite her voice being heard by the whole OR. She began inspecting her incisions with a sharp gaze, meticulous yet grumpily babbling as only she can do. "You're a smart, confident woman, and not to mention, an award-winning surgeon. God knows the Carter Madison under your belt is not a fluke caused by being a pretty and blonde," she made the vaguest gestures with her hands before finishing with, "biscuit."

"Oh yeah. A biscuit. Because that's definitely a better description for me."

"Fine, you want better?" she huffed. "You won it because rainbows fly out from your butt, and the committee had the hots for said rainbows flying out from your butt, which just so happened to beat old, genius German butts and ate their dreams' butts for breakfast."

Callie's iron will thing could be a bit annoying (and weird), if not dreadful for the usual invasive conversations in the OR. But, amongst all the things Arizona could describe this phenomena with, it was also quite:

Cute.

Face flaring pink despite herself, Arizona mumbled, "I-, thank you, Callie. Really. I really, truly appreciate it. But that was... really an awful lot of butts," she concluded with a groan. "I'd like it very much if we never have to talk about old men's butts again."

The brunette sported a similar grimace on her face.

"Deal."

A few nurses chuckled in the background at their chatter, and the blonde menacingly gave them the side-eye. Which didn't help causes at all, seeing as the muffled laughter still persisted. The nurses now took great joy in their funny verbal spars ever since they'd given up on containing their none-too-personal talks with only each other. People were simply speculative, and they only wanted to be as open and transparent as they've never been before.

Even Arizona (the most private person Arizona herself ever knew) finds that it's made a lot of things easier. Especially, with her ex-wife.

Go figure.

"Everyone! I'm gonna say this once, and then I'm not gonna say it again. I don't mind you all listening to our stupid talks that much - _but_! I do want you to practice safe gossiping. So," she started cheerfully, "in light of that, I want to clarify that Dr. Torres is totally kidding. I have no history of eating old, German men in whatever context." She turned up her steely gaze, mouth in a firm line, seriously stressing, "I would never."

And just like that, they returned to their argument. If Callie had been amused at some part, she contained it rather flawlessly, "Look. I'd love to comment more on your mini-press conference but I _still_ think you're missing the point."

The blonde grumped out a small noise. "I wasn't aware that you had a point." At 38 turning 39, her petty reactions might have passed its peak but she still pulled them off pretty well. She knew that. Callie knew that. Even the sleeping V.I.P. patient on their table knew that. But nobody ever talked about it in public. And nobody knew why either. What they don't know can't hurt them.

"She called you an Amy Poehler _rip-off_."

"Yeah. A pregnant lady did. A pregnant lady seven hours into labor." Arizona gave a disbelieving laugh, "I've been called worse things by other people since grade school. I've been called a banana once, though that only got me confused. Why are we even fighting about this?"

"Because..." then Callie sighed. "God... I don't know! I'm just so mad that it happened. And the fact that there's worse, makes everything... worse-er."

"That's not a word."

Callie ignored her and went on with her spiel, "I can understand the pregnant people part because labors hurt like a bitch in both theory and practice, but couldn't the others have seen that you're more and _better_ than the things they've said? I mean, sure you can be a total freak with grammar sometimes. And sure your jokes are levels way lower than Amy Poehler's-"

Arizona frowned, "Hey!"

"-but you're also an incredible person," Callie hedged softly. "And-, and you're kind and sweet and supportive. And you work _so_ hard even when you think no one's watching. You care about your patients and your people a lot, and that's what I..." the brunette paused and changed courses, muttering in an alarmingly high voice, "that's what makes you so special, Arizona."

Arizona paused, her eyebrows bobbing up like antennas.

Special?

Oh, she'd beg to contradict that. Laugh. Comment how the sudden stock-stillness of the room was super out-of-this-world and more special than anything.

(She definitely didn't want to comment on the first statement that had been cut off.)

Its fall was sudden, and with it came the subtle stares and the not-very-subtle ones. But, _darn it,_ just as they had openness and transparency and shit, the foot-in-mouth awkwardness was still there. Sad as it may sound, the Grey-Sloan population have all nearly internalized this whole thing and collectively accepted it. As for them both, they mostly just persevere through it all.

Case in point: Callie briefly growing flustered with her movements, ducking her head self-consciously as she worked. And Arizona looking like something had just crawled up her butt, visibly dreading the moment.

Go figure.

Time paused, her mouth twitched, and time played again. Arizona's face was still flushed, eyes shut tight, when Callie began again, "Need I say more?"

The softness and coolness of her voice made the blonde gulp. Dissolve to red all over again. Arizona took a second to chance a glimpse up at Callie again, the rosy colors of their skin now mirroring each other.

She then refocused her eyes on the fetal monitor. Her lashes fluttered quickly against her cheeks, gaze flitting from chocolate brown eyes to any other place, as she shyly replied, "N-No."

She didn't want to stutter but she did. Her achievements and good deeds were things to be proud about, she knew that. Everybody who knew her did. But when it would still flow out of Callie's lips like that, a string of the most earnest (albeit, strangest) praises she's ever heard in her life, Arizona's just undone and reduced to a puddle of embarrassed goo, seeping through the cracks of the floor in an instant; into the ground; into the nearest magma chamber. Boiling and ready to just burst and be free out of a volcano, when people least expected it.

It was a reprise of the Pompeiian tragedy. Except with lush fields of swirling, fluffy pink flowers and pretty, pretty butterflies. But of course, she has to cradle it in. Hold this _thing_ that has only grown stronger, stranger by the crevice of her hand. A small, balled fist clutching onto her chest. Figuratively, of course.

Arizona certainly didn't have any more strength to be subjected under another one of nurse Bokhee's infamous, knowing glances.

"Would you two just get it over with," a blunt voice spoke from behind. "You giggling BFFs are getting painful to watch."

Towering over between them, Karev stood like a buffer who looked like he wished to be stabbed in the head than be there, arms gruffly folded and conspicuously annoyed. After all, this silly argument's been on circles since the start of this complex tendon repair, and he was _Alex Karev_. "Am I still needed here?" he asked them.

For the third freaking time.

But it obliterated the brief white elephant in the room at least. Completely bypassing him— also for the third time— the ortho surgeon swiveled in her chair, shaking her head, "No, your ego still needs a little more stroking." Callie waved a drill at Arizona and proclaimed, "You're no Amy Poehler rip-off. You're Super Mom and Mother Teresa merged into one!"

And for the life of her, Arizona will never be able to understand the logic of how Callie made that sound so genuine. And she just, just couldn't stop the small grin that escaped her, even as she's finally able to huff back, "Now I think that's a little too much."

Thank god for the invention of surgical masks, the blonde internally mused. Hiding flattery and unwanted smiles that a former spouse would most certainly be smug-about-in-a-childish-debate since 1897.

"I'm with Robbins on this one," Alex chimed in.

Really, thank god also for the idea, which had popped in her head seven years ago, to take the Sassy and Thuggish Alex Karev under her wing. Besides molding him to be the great doctor that he was now, Arizona had really trained (or _tamed_ she should say) him as a person very well. "See, Callie," she gloated to the brunette who promptly rolled her eyes, "even my boy Karev gets it. It's not downplaying, it's called 'being humble' and 'acknowledging the truth'."

Alex snorted incorrigibly, his only happy noise for today. "No, I _don't_ get it, Mother Teresa. I just don't need your head to get bigger than it already is."

Her idea seven years ago might have also backfired.

It was still a wonder how their sometimes less-than-professional OR behavior is still being tolerated in the hospital. An outsider probably wouldn't know that this surgery was personally assigned to them by the Chief and was of high priorities. But that didn't stop triggering of fake gags, competitive streaks and bizarre tag-teams in their childish debates. None of them were especially surprised when Callie's eyes dramatically narrowed, her brows drawn together like it's their second nature. Even the anesthesiologist had stopped with his crossword puzzle and looked up, anticipating what the brunette's next move could be, while she stitched and stitched. With full suspense.

She instructed loudly, "Avery." Reclaimingly. "Have my back out here."

Said Jackson Avery, sitting at the other end and previously avoiding them (he was very entranced with a leftover skin flap), was jumpy when he was called out. He's been laying low since Kepner had left to Jordan. But like a scant, few things, it too, was never talked about in public. The plastic surgeon awkwardly peeped, "Uh, I'm not sure if I should-"

"No. None of that 'not sure' crap."

"Excuse me?"

The game ever so calamitous, Callie gave him the patriotic staredown. And it shut him up immediately. "What this OR needs right now," she started, an octave lower than usual, "is a solid team superior to this duo of preschoolers."

Cockily, Alex stepped up to the arena and challenged, "Preschoolers? Torres, that the best you can do?"

When the brunette ignored him again— cue, "Where's the tough actin' _Callackson_ at!?" to Avery, like a livid basketball coach — nobody could tell anymore if it was intentional or not.

"Did she just say that?" Alex's head whipped to the blonde. "Is this the real life?"

Arizona shrugged, secretly endeared. Stupid, cute Callie and her stupid, cute quirks.

"She's just really into portmanteaus these days."

( _They_ were actually both very into it. Making up wordplays has become one of their new things. So far, they'd giggled only about their friends in the hospital. Their current favorite name combination was 'Benanda' for Warren and Bailey— mainly, because it sounded funny and rhymed with empanada. A fact that they strangely adored.)

Their bickering all but lasted in a matter of seconds, though, as OR 1 quieted down when the surgery has reached its very climax. And Callie — well, she went into a sort of trance. Her eyes and energy were all focused on the ruptured tendon in front of her as she painstakingly sutured the irreconcilable ends, one by one.

Everyone, surgeon or not, knows it when they see one. That peculiar trance. When the stars would just seem to align, and they would witness a person in _her_ zone and at that moment become - transcendent. Everyone has witnessed those moments.

And that's exactly what Arizona saw and some _more_.

Finally, Callie rose from her seat, clasped her gloved hands together, and cracked her knuckles, magical, brown eyes turning clearer and brighter all the while watching the results of her efforts and magic. Arizona just _knew_ that beneath that surgical mask— was the biggest, possible smile on her face.

The ortho surgeon joked, "Is it just me or is that a leg with the most beautiful shade of pink anyone has ever seen?"

Everyone in the surgical staff shared smiles, with nurse Bokhee surprisingly chuckling, but Arizona was the one who took the other woman's excitement to heart and led the applause among them all. Because she was amazed as always. Mesmerized. "Congratulations, Dr. Torres," she cooed, with a playful hum and an extra mischievous squint.

Callie's eyes crinkled back cutely while the two of them giddily untied their masks, mirroring each other again, revealing the brunette's wide smile that just went _on and on and on_. "You too, Dr. Robbins. Great work," she cooed back.

Softly, unmindful of the other curious ears, of Karev's signalling glances at Avery, and of her own words, the blonde said, "No. That was all you."

If it was possible, that got the other woman to smile even wider.

Unfortunately, circumstances had directed for Callie to be called upon on another immediate emergency surgery right after, so Arizona was left to do the post-ops with Alex and her creepy-ass, post-surgery giddiness. After they informed the parents of the huge success, they went off to the nurses' station to dock off their tablets; Arizona humming along the bubbliest version of Madonna's _Material Girl,_ and Alex worriedly staring at her like she's mad.

A slight furrow came between his brows when she started to subtly bob her head up and down to the tune of her hum. Then inquisition locked behind his intensive gape when she drummed her palms rhythmically on the counter top. His mouth slightly twitched.

"So... great surgery."

"It was, wasn't it!" Arizona chirped.

Pause again.

"Sure," he said.

"Gee, you act like you didn't enjoy witnessing our OR magic," she observed. "You do know I'm still your teacher, right? 'Cause I compare us with _The Karate Kid_ on a daily basis, and that's practically a bond of fate. For life, Dr. Karev. For life."

Alex almost seemed utterly disoriented at her latest height of enthusiasm. It was like seeing a hologram of the exact, same, refreshing mentor from a few years back: the Ghost of Arizona Past. It was a little unsettling. "Yeah, uh, sorry." He scratched the back of his neck. "It's just been... a strange day. But you and Torres did really good in there."

"Yeah," she grinned proudly. Almost— dreamily. "My wife's pretty amazing, huh." Continuing with her hums, Arizona went back to tapping on her tablet's screen, too happy to instantly notice her slip of the tongue and the sudden and knowing flare in Alex's eyes. Suddenly, she was pulled by him into the empty office room near the counter. "Hey, what the hell-" she broke off from his grip when his back was to her as he locked the door. She was about to protest the wrongs of his manhandling when she took in the utter ambivalence on his face. "... What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Do you want me to shatter your glass?"

"What? What glass?"

"Just answer the question. Do you want me to shatter your glass?" he asked in a deadly serious voice. It unnerved Arizona a little, made her fists clench for a moment before she regained the breath she didn't even notice has slipped from her body's grip. She nodded imperceptibly, unsurely, as her fingers _shook_ in the sudden gravity that's befallen, and Alex only strengthened his stance, evenly declaring:

"You just called her your wife."

It took her a blink.

At first hearing, nothing seemed wrong with it.

Callie was her wife.

She knew that.

But then— Callie was also _not_ her wife.

It took her another blink.

 _Oh._

Right.

Callie wasn't her wife.

Callie _isn't_ her wife.

Karev tilted his head in the dark. "Robbins..."

"No," the blonde declared squeamishly, breaking out a slight sweat. " _No,_ okay? Let's just forget about this and never speak about it ever again, alright Dr. Karev?"

He scowled at her dismissal. "Look, don't 'Dr. Karev' me. You just called her your freaking wife in front of me with your McFreaking heart eyes or whatever. I'm your friend. That's not something I should ignore."

His bluntness made her up her walls again, rigid and steep. Arizona felt confined, like she was trapped in her own crawling skin. But she wasn't about to let up without any amount of fight. Not this time. "Okay, I did! So what!? Us divorcees slip all the time! I-It was just a mistake, Alex. It's not a big deal."

"But it **_is_** ," he said. Pity now filled his eyes. And she absolutely hated that oh so familiar look above all. "She's not your wife, Robbins. Not anymore."

"Don't you think I know that!?"

"Of course, I know! That's why I'm not gonna just stand by and watch you pretend being 'friends' with Torres because you're still pining over her after two long years, and because you're still too scared to move on. You don't think I don't hear you crying at night when Sof's not around at home? Because I do. And I'm not gonna do nothing and fucking watch you kill yourself like that. I won't do it."

Arizona set her lips on a firm line.

Well, fuck.

* * *

 _07:42 PM, 20 September 2015. Karev Residence._

Callie Torres's world stopped turning the minute Arizona Robbins asked her, "Cup of tea?"

And the question itself wasn't out of the ordinary. It shouldn't be. Arizona's done similar things in the past. It would start then with an innocent _want some coffee?_ , and end with a slightly threatening _I need your coffee._ And she was doing it now, though this time with a few changes.

First of all— the blonde had gone gung-ho recently on being a manic goodie for organic this and leafy that. Coffee Junkie Arizona had officially switched to Tea Drinker Arizona. Bailey apparently lured her into her cult for kale smoothies. Naturally, it was Arizona's obligation to hack her into this as well. (And Callie let her.)

So here she was: clean of Seattle's Best lattes and other fantastic coffees since the start of the month. It was a milestone in her whole adult-ing life.

Secondly— last weekend, Callie had been given a cosmic sign while she was in the middle of the supermarket. Due to both Arizona's nagging for the purpose of healthier living and Callie's own personal curiosity, she had started on more- _fervently_ reading the nutritional facts behind every product before putting it in the cart.

It's transformed completely into a habit of her own. Like an awakening, of sorts. But the exact point of epiphany was when she had a cereal box in her hands, and her arms were all stretched out in front of her, eyes scandalously squinted.

They say the first stage of grief was denial. And for her, denial needed venting. So she badgered the blonde, all freaked out as hell. (And _thank goodness_ for Arizona Robbins because the other woman had really helped her a lot with that.)

During this processing, Callie had also found that Arizona being calm and rational about the whole thing, was because she was already a complete pro. Turns out Arizona had been there, done that, when they were at the awkward, avoiding post-divorce phase. Callie felt bad, but at the very least: help for farsightedness, she was offered; help on how-to's at the optical shop, Callie received.

Lastly— well. They were divorced.

But they were A-plus friends.

Absolutely.

Which was why she's having a problem now.

Not with the homemade, surprisingly delicious, Robbins-brewed oolong. Not with their suspiciously-matching reading glasses. But it was with the way Arizona Robbins looked at Calliope Torres in this very moment, or what she looked like, while doing it.

The brunette had been extremely late at dropping off a snoozing Sofia over at her Mommy's, and when she'd called Arizona's phone by the door, the other woman had been 'busy in the cooking department' and just told Callie to let herself in. So she had gone ahead. She put their daughter to bed and headed down to the kitchen.

And then there she was.

There she was— in all the glory of her light, tousled waves. A white camisole clung to Arizona's sides, seamlessly outlining the curve of her breasts yet not bothering to hide the straps of her bra (which were a soft beige— which she wasn't staring at, at all), and black eyeglasses were perched delicately on the lower end of her nose. It was Callie's first time seeing this look. And her mind did not drift off to the two words, 'librarian' and 'hot'.

At.

All.

If not for the pajama pants with the ridiculous print, she would have thought the scene was like that of predictable rom-coms. (Did anybody also get that soft-porn vibe?) And for a while, Callie just dumbly stood there. Kind of tantalized and confused all at once. Until she found her voice.

"Hey," she said. "You have new Goofy pajamas."

Tearing her gaze away from her cookbook, the blonde shifted her blue eyes towards her. Then looked down at herself. _Stupidly,_ brown eyes followed, only to find themselves drawn and stuck on the scatter of freckles peeking above the shirt's low cut line. And that damn mole on Arizona's chest that was slowly making its way into her memory again and— honestly? She needed to do something other than wanting to look at her ex-wife forever.

"Oh, yeah," Arizona said. She brushed off invisible dust from her pants. Stretched the loose, cotton fabric between her fingers. "There was a sale again the other day. Me and Sofia have matching pairs."

Callie distractedly nodded at her answer, afraid to breathe. God, why did it feel like the mole was staring back at her? Was that even possible? Was it alive? Everything she knew about the human body was temporarily forgotten. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, mulling for her fucked life.

A lone mole was wishing for her wit's end _._

 _A mole._

She glanced up at the other woman whose eyebrows were now raised then smiled.

"That's great."

The kettle on the stove whistled louder.

"Why," Arizona asked. "Do you want one, too?"

She only answered with a low laugh. After a few more seconds of staring at Arizona's face, Callie realized that the blonde wasn't kidding. She was actually dead-serious. And Arizona genuinely looked so thoughtful, so sweet, and so innocent, and the fact just quickly turned Callie's mild embarrassment into something painfully nostalgic.

Flutters of wings roused fire in her insides. But, oh, she knew that these aren't butterflies running rampant in her stomach anymore. Maybe— maybe flamingos, she thought. Pink, tall, its limbs long and flimsy as they padded on her shallow depths. _Splash, splash, splash_ ringing out in every ripple.

She's come to hate this. Definitely not Arizona. But how she could still make her feel - be it making her want to listen to Sinatra under the moonlight while writing cheesy poetry in her head, or bite the hell out of her nails and revert back to the age of thirteen. It's as if something about her just always, always has this permanent and powerful hold over Callie. Always, always pulling her in.

Maybe everything about her.

But they're not together now because of reasons.

Because they can't be.

If there was a lesson the two of them could pick up along their numerous break-ups and make-ups, it's that perhaps they weren't meant to be. Maybe they were only meant to be friends. Plus, there was this trill of a tiny voice in her head. That manipulative, wicked voice that was always eager to argue that, _We all have feelings for our girl friends, Calliope._ _It doesn't mean you have to act on them._

And the truth behind that statement was quite chilling. Even if she didn't know how the _Dana Fairbanks_ situation could entirely apply on her own, maybe it was still true. Maybe despite the freakishly large flamingos that she still felt for her ex-wife now, the seven-year story of Callie and Arizona was really, already over. Maybe these feelings were born only out of aftershocks. Nostalgia.

"Are you okay?"

No, she wasn't.

"I'm fine," Callie told her, "I'm perfect."

She'll be fine. Soon.

 _Soon_.

Gears turned in the blonde's mind, then she raked her fingers through her golden locks. She looked like she's slowly realizing a mista- "Oh no," dropped from coral pink lips. "Callie. That's-, is that the withdrawal talking?"

The jumpy and too energetic tone caused Callie's sentimental mood to wane a little, and she couldn't help but just— smile. That's _Arizona Robbins, Peds surgery_ for you. Sunshine incarnate who waltzes up to bathrooms and kisses sad strangers. Also an extensive neurotic.

As quickly as she could, Arizona switched the heat in the stove off and whirled back to her, looking downright terrified. "Oh god, I'm so, so, so sorry, I-I should've known better than be a tea pusher," she muttered softly, worriedly.

Callie laughed, "Tea pusher?"

The blonde rolled her eyes but nodded coyly in affirmation. "Don't mock the tea pusher," she said, coming closer. "I'll just make you some coffee, yeah? I'll steal from Wilson's pack and pay her later." Then she touched and felt for the temperature on her temple. She held it there for a while, gaze almost reverent, touching, and touching, almost intimate— longer than she should have, then Arizona blushed, Callie blushed, and they both tried to repress it. It only served to make the brunette more nauseated.

Fuck her life, really.

"No fever," Arizona offered her a small smile. She pulled her hand away like she'd been burned. "Bad headache?"

 _(I have a cure for headache that doesn't involve coffee.)_

Nostalgia's really one big liar, Callie began to think. She can barely grasp the gist by its tail but she's familiar with it. It's always brought about a desperation for what she didn't, couldn't have anymore.

"Yup. Just a bad headache."

Nostalgia always came and settled down. Roots of mangroves digging deep into her skin, into her bones. Waiting till she would quietly fall.

Callie didn't move. But Arizona did. Her legs brought her to the kitchen counter, and her right arm was already stretched out toward the silver kettle when she asked, "Would black be okay?"

The blonde's smile was bright, quiet, and the roots of nostalgia grew. Reached for deeper waters, even if they might have nothing to twist around on anymore. Ocean blues shimmered brighter. And it stung, it sucked her soul in and out, and it strangely made remembering just be— exquisitely beautiful.

Seeing memories with new eyes? All the more.

"No," Callie smiled, "I'll just have the tea."

* * *

 _09:26 AM, 24 October 2015. ER Ambulance Bay._

The perk was too powerful, out of hand, and Arizona herself wouldn't be surprised if her butt was glowing through her scrubs. Her morning was the usual but it'd felt so unusually delightful, it made her light on her fleshy and robot feet. She's never felt more euphoric with all the baby-saving and intern-ass-saving. This day was just gonna be great, she decided, because she could just _feel_ it.

And she'd been meaning to spread the joy— share all of that to this person, who had been her go-to place these recent months. Sparkling white teeth and sparkling dark eyes.

After putting on the chafy, yellow trauma gown, she immediately spotted the back of who she'd been looking for and grinned. They haven't had a moment alone since last week, so she didn't chastise herself, this time, when she pranced over to the ambulance bay. Arizona happily took it upon herself to help tie the other woman's gown up. However, she noticed how Callie's shoulders squared, tensing a bit at her speechless intrusion.

But the brunette didn't say anything, her breath just forming a small cloud in the late October air. Faint sunlight streamed by on Callie's person, her dark hair up in a short ponytail, exposing the soft, caramel skin of her neck. Suddenly, she reached for her tie and let the waves down— which was a bit of a shame. Arizona was a second too late to stop her dreamy sigh.

Callie had such a gorgeous nape.

The firmness. The smoothness.

The sweet-smelling scent of her neck.

Other stuff that Arizona shouldn't be thinking about.

 _Jesus_. Reluctantly, Arizona had to swallow down the track of her thoughts. It must be the aftereffects of officially being celibate for a year and some more. For all her 'slutty tendencies', it was quite a feat _._ And it was also terrifying. The blonde put on the brightest, most friendly grin ever, gently patting her knot like a good, innocent Girl Scout, "There, all done!"

She was going to open her mouth to speak more. Evade feeling like a total jackass who'd been subtly perving on her friend, and open up with a joke about a man who wasn't an eggplant but was instead retarded. But then the other woman came first, wide-eyed. And she blurted out to her:

"I had a date last night."

Which— was totally fine, she supposed. Arizona has always been vaguely aware of Callie's dating life. Her supposedly, slightly _unattended_ dating life. Meaning she also knew a lot more than she should about Callie's few, failed first dates and the brunette's minor and implied disinterest to said dates. Which they'd never made a point to actually talk about. (At least, they evolved past pressed small talk, right?)

In her defense, though— as the dreadful ex-wife— it's not like Arizona had any right or desire to know. Unless it's getting serious— a scorned discussion for another time. And it's also not like she didn't want to know, either. Right now, they were virtually attached by the _hip_. Plus, Callie could always tell her anything. But still.

What the hell?

She just smiled, even as she felt lights of humongous gas lamps blow up behind her eyes. The image was heavily morbid. But it's cool, she's cool. Gosh, _it was completely fine_. "Oh. A date. That's-," the blonde tried to smile even wider, "that's nice."

The winds blew over them. Silky strands of jet black tresses swished to her, lightly brushing against her face, as Callie turned her head towards her. And she looked very irked at the surprising enthusiasm. What Arizona was realizing right now was, that she probably looked like a smiling psycho killer from those low-budget slasher movies. And so she dialed it back on a level where it was ex-wife-appropriate. And where she won't want to punch the nearest resident at the same time.

Callie just nodded as she breathed, "... Um, yeah. It was. Nice, I mean."

"That's-, _wow_. Cool. Smart," she commented eagerly. "Good call."

Arizona ran out of neutral, amicable remarks about things she doesn't care about like dates. _Ooh_. Dates, huh. The carton of fresh milk she just opened today also had a date, and it should only be expiring next week. But then again, she also caught Alex drinking straight from the box this morning, and that manchild's saliva certainly didn't help preserving its already short fridge-life. She inwardly sighed. Poor, spoiled milk.

Wait, where was she?

"Her name was Penny."

Right. But the horrid name had immediately piqued the blonde's interest. She could poke a little fun on it, right? Think the name of one of Callie's potential love interests to be incredibly stupid? Like they were two normal and proper divorcees, who mentally stab each other on the back. _Find a Penny, pick it up._ Arizona got the strongest urge to laugh. "O-Oh?"

Callie caught her look.

"Are you smiling?"

Apparently, her cheeks were all bundled up, reddening, and the corners of her lips were curled in the weirdest way. Why, yes, Calliope Torres— Arizona Robbins is smiling hard and secretly picking on your date last night. Because of reasons. Which she can't exactly pinpoint at the moment. But this Penny seems like she was a delight. Callie wouldn't go out with someone who wasn't smart, funny, and pretty, yeah? If she wasn't, Arizona would be pretty insulted, speaking from an ex point-of-view.

But Penny would probably roll with it.

"No, I'm not," Arizona said.

It wasn't enough to quash Callie's perfect, shot-up left brow and her suspicions. "Wait. She's not blonde, by the way," she clarified briskly, frown lines showing. "Penny's a redhead."

Blonde? Redhead? Arizona Robbins didn't care. And Arizona Robbins is a proud, natural blonde named after a battleship that was named after a state. What about Penny? Was Penny named after a coin? Arizona gnawed on the inside of her lip, clicked her tongue two, three times, before letting out the most incredulously induced cackle.

"Penny the Redhead. Right."

Brown eyes narrowed their stare at her, less mirth than she's used to, but trying. Always trying. "Of course, she's no zombie kid either. And, of course, you know that," the brunette forced out, eyelids rapidly fluttering, "I just... I think I know what you're thinking." She smiled hardly. "I know you and your TV shows and nerd jokes."

Clearly, Callie didn't know what she was thinking, but— "Gotcha," she assured her, elongating the vowel theatrically to seem lighter. Feel lighter.

But there were no eccentric nerd jokes under her sleeve this time. Not anymore.

Their talk was saved by the siren.

What Arizona didn't tell her was, that she wasn't laughing about _The Big Bang Theory,_ or all the other Penny's from all the other TV shows. She wasn't laughing about anything, at all. What she didn't tell her was, that she had just caught on something about her relationship with Callie. And she finally understood.

She only had her by part.

* * *

 _9:22 PM, 04 November 2015. Torres Residence. House 830._

What Callie didn't mention to Arizona was, that the first date with Penny the Redhead— was most undeniably the last and only date with Penny the Redhead. What she also didn't mention was, that her date with Penny the Redhead had been mentioned to her on a whim, out of _fear._ For _Arizona_. Which was irrational.

And— god-failed-to-forbid— the nickname actually fucking stuck to her.

Lately, she'd been secretly and absolutely frustrated at the other woman. At herself. At both of them. And she was also greatly confused for good reason. It was already a universal truth that Arizona could be an impeccable avoider if she wished to— and for more than a week, she'd done it so. Like it wasn't even hard. The hospital had a lot of floors, right?

Callie avoided her too. In return and in petty protest.

So their set-up now was just a tiny bit odd and difficult, since they'd been wordlessly dodging each other's sole company for a total of eleven days. Sofia, who newly turned five today, had cajoled both her mothers earlier to lay down on her very small, small bed— with her on the middle, of course. Nonetheless, it was a complete low blow, because they didn't want to. But the puppy eyes were too out of their league and it was her birthday and 'birthday girls should get whatever they want', so it was something they had to do.

And they're managing. Magnificently. The child had literally just fallen asleep after an hour of sweet-talking, and now, the two of them didn't know what to do.

Hence, the procured, pregnant silence. Callie didn't normally do things head-on now. She'd already learned enough from baring her heart through the years— she'd don a faux-invincible mask. Think, calculate, recalibrate. But some things still slip. Especially with Arizona.

"Are we okay?" she first asked.

And Arizona looked at her, cheeks slightly flushing like she's guilty. Ashamed. And she understood like she's always did. "Of course, we're okay," she said. "We always are."

 _Not always._

Callie bit her lip and stared at the ceiling above.

Silence fell on them again.

"I don't know what to do with this house anymore," the brunette said the first thing on her mind, breaking their false peace. "It's too..." _Exhausting to clean up. Too big. Too depressing, too empty._

Instead, the blonde politely supplied, "Roomy?"

Roomy? Sure. Roomy was fine; emotionally distant. She nodded tautly, feeling the air between them drop, "For two and a half people."

Humming, the blonde repeated in a dazed murmur, "Two and a half, huh?" And she snorted quietly, sleepily, looking down at the restful, little girl on her left, "That's a good one." Her elbow then settled by the pillow, more relaxed, and she swayed an inch nearer. "You-know-who really has such a big personality. Could be bigger than the two of us combined," Arizona jokingly deadpanned, jaw resting against the soft flesh of her palm, glassy eyes now a little distant and tentative. "What do you say we change it to 'too roomy for three'?"

"I say, that's disturbingly appropriate." Because it was true— as per Sofia's request, her birthday was spent as a private family affair on the aviator museum and the horse-riding track for the whole day. Suffice to say, both Callie and Arizona weren't able to keep up with all the squeals and the circumnavigating. "Seriously, though," Callie muttered. "She didn't get this insane stamina from me. And Mark… you know him. Mark's obnoxious and vain but mostly-"

"A pansy too arrogant for his own good."

"Exactly!" Callie quietly chuckled. "He couldn't even run one straight kilometer without taking a break every five minutes, remember?"

"I remember." The most tender smile graced Arizona's lips. It had a slight haughtiness mixed with certain melancholy, though, and Callie could tell that the blonde was remembering. (Early on their relationship, Mark Sloan had once challenged the athletic Arizona Robbins for a race. He surrendered by handing her an expensive gift certificate from _Barney's_ an hour later that was politely declined. In exchange for a six-pack of beer.) "The shy Callie Torres genes must be recessive," she whispered, still smiling.

"Hmm, maybe," the brunette played back, feeling the lightness return to them again. "Or— she just gets that bunch of sun energy from you. That's a higher possibility."

"Maybe," Arizona half-smiled before neutralizing her expression. "Do you really want to sell it?" Her voice shook a little. She's testing the waters, Callie thought, her toe not too eager to dip, with the way she asked it.

"I don't know." She could only be honest.

"So," Arizona drawled calmly, turning to her, a shallow dimple made on her left cheek. Only one. "Raincheck, then."

She smiled back, "Raincheck." Now, they had a million and one things left unsaid— however, there was one that Callie could put into rest now. "You remember that thing Grey and Yang used to spout a lot?" she asked.

Arizona laughed softly, "What thing? Because those two spouted a lot of things."

"Person, person stuff. All that yada-yada."

"Ah," and the blonde paused, recognizing it and tilting her head up in thought. Then her coral pink lips later parted open, like she's about to say something of important, important consequence, but she seemed to check on whatever instinct it was as she only smiled crookedly and whispered, "That was actually very sweet."

Callie snapped her head to the blonde frantically, laughing, in a sudden mood to mock. However, she decided to come out and just be honestly, freaking _charmed_ of the other woman's sheer and same old, same old child-likeness instead. Arizona Robbins' ironically mature naivety was just fascinating to watch. "You think it's sweet?"

"Don't you?"

She did. Sometimes.

"I'm sorry but I'll have to ignore that question."

The blonde lightly slapped her on the arm, laughed musically, and Callie swatted her back. It was alchemy's first law of Equivalent Exchange. Man cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. They laughed at each other again and at the hilarity of the circumstances they always seem to tread with each other. It was a miracle that Sofia's still asleep and dead to the world. (Just like her Mami when she's asleep.)

Feeling her throat hurt after their prolonged giggles, Callie silently coughed and swallowed an imaginary pill of courage. She stayed quiet, comfortable this time, and stared up again at the ceiling for a few more moments. She didn't know why she was nervous for what she was about to ask. But she was. And she's gonna do it anyway. "Do you want… to be hired," the brunette had to make her expression completely flat, "for that position?"

"What?" Then little by little, Arizona pouted. "Sorry, this is out of topic, but I kinda hate that I'm the one that keeps on saying that now instead of you. What have you done to our symbiotic relationship, Evil Dr. Torres?"

The cute sideline instantly purged her fretful nerves. _God_ , Arizona could always make everything hard and complicated and easy and comfortable all at the same time. "Shut up," the brunette laughed despite her sore throat.

And the blonde yawned despite her inexplicable curiosity, "So... what job is it?"

"Nothing, sleepyhead." Smirking, Callie teased, "Apparently, Evil Dr. Torres has already hired you for the job without either of you knowing it."

Arizona then sleepily shifted to her side and moved her arm across Sofia's middle, accidentally touching Callie's hand. But she didn't fight on removing it anymore. Instead, she held it lightly and posed a ghost of a smile with her eyes drooping to a close as she mumbled, "Tell me."

And Callie couldn't be more happier to weave their fingers together, enveloping their arms more around their daughter, and squeeze her hand back. And like singing a song that lulls a lover to sleep, as the airs evened, softly, she told her the truest of truths like they were the only people in the world:

"You're my person _._ "

* * *

 _2:38 AM, 26 December 2015. Torres Residence. House 830._

Nothing good ever happens after 2 AM. Somehow, the night after Christmas, the two of them had wounded up drinking a few glasses of wine hours before dawn. Arizona and Callie had both decided to spend Christmas day together. As a 'family'. And it probably wasn't the best and smartest idea, seeing as it might further confuse Sofia. But, again, they're handling it - they were happy and that's what matters.

Sofia had been disappointed earlier at the light snow shower mixed with rain and had complained, "Moms, why does it always, _always_ only rain in here?". But she smiled brightly all the same, because it was always exciting when they were all laughing and hanging up stockings by the fireplace and together.

Long ago, her Uncle 'Lex had given the five-year old a DVD box set of the _Avatar_ series. So, instead of their usual tradition of watching the three _Home Alone_ s for the holidays, Sofia had convinced both her mothers if they could please, please, please watch the first few episodes together.

Thankfully, Arizona wasn't on-call for the night so she thought, _why the heck not?_ Plus, it was no secret between the three of them that Mommy was weak when it comes to cartoon shows. She'd defend how it was a really great show, and the other two would only raise their eyebrows full of power. (The fact that she mouthed along and had most of the lines memorized in many episodes was left unspoken.)

So, they'd opened the first season and watched together in harmony. But then, everything changed when Arizona was about to leave. The wisps of snow suddenly grew with cold, deafening howls of the wind. And the heaviest blanket of white that Arizona's ever seen in the years she's lived in Seattle had spilled all over the front yard, covering the grasses, the porch, and of course - her car.

Arizona panicked, Sofia bubbled up with delight, and Callie, for the second time, had her stay the night.

(Callie told her to make herself at home.)

(Arizona still didn't know what that meant.)

After tucking in the little miss to bed, they sighed. Smiled tiredly at each other. Then telepathically decided on rummaging through the kitchen together.

"I'm hungry," Arizona declared, twirling the glass in her hand. Aimlessly, she circled the small kitchen island once more while Callie watched her drunken ways in amusement. "We should make," and she sipped on her wine again before she sloppily finished with, "pancakes."

"At two in the morning?"

"Sure. Why the heck not?" Clearly, that's become her motto for the day.

"One, because you haven't slept for the past thirty-four hours and you _have_ to. Two, because it takes away the balance in 'balanced diet', and all the ATP you'll have produced would go to waste once you fall asleep. And three, because you're a double-board certified doctor, and the whole medical community would be obliged to get worried if I have to explain all the other reasons to you.

"Damn, Gina!" Arizona jeered. "I was just kidding."

Callie looked disappointingly at her. "You need to stop calling me 'Gina' every time my sass becomes too much for you."

"Gina."

"Seriously?"

"Gina. Gina. Gi-, ugh," she sat down then flopped a side of her face down the table, feeling comforted by its coldness against her skin. "I'm too tired and too hungry to even annoy you. Hearing you talk about ATP makes my mitochondria scream for pancakes. They're screaming, Calliope! _Screaming._ "

Chuckling, Callie took the wine from her hands and said, "Alright, Mackenzie, I think it's time you stop with the wine."

The blonde pouted when her glass was taken but didn't have any more energy to protest. Callie smiled at her childish antics when she noticed (because she always does) and silently came closer, tucking hairs that have gone astray behind her ear. Arizona leaned against the feeling of her knuckles, enjoying the attention, then frowned as she realized— "How come my nickname's more horrible than Gina? I don't wanna be called 'Mackenzie'. 'Mackenzie' sound mean."

"That just means it's served its function." The brunette smirked and flicked her forehead softly. "You not liking it would exactly be the point, _Mackenzie_."

Arizona rubbed her forehead. Frowned more.

"You're mocking me."

Callie raised her chin. Smirked more.

"I like mocking you."

She stared hard at her face before suddenly breaking into giggles. "That's uncanny. That's exactly what my classmate in kindergarten used to say." Arizona happily let Callie thread her slim, warm fingers through her hair once again as she proceeded to babble, "It was so annoying. He used to pinch my cheeks and pull my pigtails all the time. It was really hard to braid them back on, but I had to because Tim would definitely notice and Mom would explode."

Callie watched her animatedness with a tiny smile she could barely suppress. "He must've had a huge crush on you, then."

"What? Ew. We were just little kids," she pulled a face before making a comeback. "So, what, that translates to you having a crush on me, too?"

"Well," Callie mulled over it for a while, licking her upper lip before shrugging. "Yeah."

Needless to say, Arizona was too shell-shocked in Callie's new forwardness to think up of another response.

"I mean, if you don't mind," the brunette started again, turning up her charm as she batted her eyelashes at her, making it seem to her that it's one of their games, "I just so happen to have a bigger crush on you than your classmate in kindergarten, Arizona Robbins. So I'm really hoping you find girls who chew on their hair and sit at the back of the class attractive."

Of course, the only choice besides jumping into a frying pan was (fake?) flirting back. "Um, right. Yeah. Maybe not in kindergarten, though - maybe high school. 'Cause... by then, you know..." her voice trailed off because she was suddenly very, very distracted and Callie's face was suddenly very, very close. "... we would've already had some sense of ourselves, a-and... I think I would've had more confidence to ask pretty girls out," Arizona blurted while subtly tilting her head away. She almost lost track of her thoughts when she glanced at Callie's face again.

Where the hell was all this coming from?

The brunette persistently chased after her gaze and cocked her head in her direction. "What, why do you get to ask me out? _I_ ask _you_ out. That's how it's supposed to go."

"What," the blonde scrunched her nose in defiance, still avoiding Callie's eyes, "no, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"No, Callie. Because... I would be that starstruck, tomboy-ish new kid, and you would be that kind, kind sweetheart who would help me on my first day," she decided on confessing out loud. It was a longtime fantasy of hers that she'd actually dreamt up in her sleep way, way back when they were married. There were multiple versions of them, really; one where they were co-workers who first hated each other; one where they were roommates in college. But all of them ended the same. Breathing unevenly, she stared into glazed brown eyes and said, "We would become fast friends. And I'd fall faster..."

"... Yeah?" Callie's stare softened.

"Yeah. And maybe... when I feel like the time's right... I'd do the cheesy love-letter-in-a-locker thing-"

"Then we would fall in love," Callie finished in complete certainty. The other woman breathed deeply, took her hand into hers, and gave her a warm smile. And suddenly, the whole thing didn't feel like it was a game anymore, for how cruel a game could be to play with matters such as falling in love.

"I..." Arizona fumbled, curious and wary at the same time.

 _Yes._

 _Yes, we'd fall in love,_ she wanted to say.

 _We always do_.

The brunette placed a hand on her cheek, and Arizona was instantly brought back. Her thumb, soft yet firm, stroked her skin, and her voice, light yet close to breaking, hummed a few mere inches against her lips. "Can you imagine it, too? Our parents being so happy for us. And then us dating and fighting bullies in school. And maybe we reach a point where we also fight and almost break up. But we won't. We'd go to prom and drink the spiked punches and dance and kiss. And maybe we make it to the real world, maybe not. Maybe... maybe we get back together, maybe not. But in those moments, every single happy thing in fairy tales would have come true. And they would have made all the difference," she told her, only five centimeters away from a touch. "What do you think?"

"I think..." and Arizona glanced down Callie's lips, "you're insane."

When she sounded the whisper, it was practically a soft pant. Like a plea coming from the sudden closeness from their lips.

Callie leant closer. " _You_ 're insane."

She had that look on her face. Along with that peculiar, tight smile. When the world was pushing for the painful inevitable and she was helpless to catch her parted lips and kiss her because it was just the natural thing to do.

So she does.

Callie pressed her lips slowly and tentatively over hers, pushing against it with a little more force on an impulse of her own. Arizona froze but soon gave back as much as she was given, tugging jet-black waves and pulling Callie more into her. Then it was all fervent lips, tongue, teeth, and hands. And as impulsively as it started, as hunger built in the midst of the sound of steady downpour, they were able to break off with one chaste sweep, eyes fluttering with slow exits of labored breath from their chests.

Callie's mouth was softer and wetter than Arizona remembered. And she thought of how the kiss was like coming up for air.

But the silence after seemed to scream doom and regret and soon, Callie only whispered, "Sorry," in her ear and pulled away. She composed herself like nothing for the past twelve seconds had ever happened and moved to stand up. She tilted her head and smiled warmly at Arizona, "Still want pancakes?"

And it hurt like hell.

The brunette's lips still glistened in the lowlight, still looking like she'd been feverishly kissed, and the blonde hesitated to trace the tremble in her bottom lip. But she set her palms on Callie's forearms gently instead and pulled her down all the same. She sighed loadedly, closing her eyes, even as she leant her forehead against hers and nudged their noses together, "This is probably a bad idea, right?"

Callie didn't answer. She only looked up at her with sad, dark eyes before placing a lingering kiss under her jaw. Sighing, Arizona savored the feeling of lips pressed on her skin. She then grasped the other woman's cheeks in her palms and kissed her square on the mouth again. And they kept and kept on giving an giving back the most tender and light and hurting things, until it became too much burden, too much _love_ for each of them to bear. And they had to stop and look into each other's eyes. And they just - knew.

They blame it on the wine and never speak of it again.

Some people say, that for someone who doesn't feel anything about you, no grand amount of strings of words can ever satisfy. But for someone who might and _might_ just love you? Every silence speaks an eternity. Every look is worth the world's library. Arizona wants nothing more than to believe that it's true. Because, really, it's either that or maybe it's the other saying that some people believed in, too.

Maybe nothing good really happens after 2 AM.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry this took ages to post! I got too caught up with school and I didn't think anyone other than myself still read this. But I had loads of fun and took great creative liberty with this because it's really entirely for my emotional relief (it's a fucking messy blast, I love it). PS, the "Gina" thing is an ode to one of my fave Calzona writers, baxley8030. The second to the last lines were inspired by what my Sociology prof said in class last week. He was quite intense.

Enjoy and leave reviews! Or not! But till the next.


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